


Canadians in the East Wing

by Bri_Cheese



Series: Future ’verse [1]
Category: The West Wing
Genre: Diary/Journal, East Wing, F/M, Post-Series, Santos Administration, multi-narrators
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-10
Updated: 2018-01-03
Packaged: 2019-01-31 09:12:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 43,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12678846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bri_Cheese/pseuds/Bri_Cheese
Summary: The story doesn't end after season seven. This is the story of the Santos administration from the prospective of the First Lady and her Chief of Staff.





	1. Entry 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally written for the "Dear Diary Challenge" over on the fanfic section of boards.theforce.net, a challenge that requires 2 entries of a diary per month for a year. This is basically two diaries in one. This is also a bit of a origin story for an OC I have created for this fandom, and an OC that mavjade created.

_Canadians in the East Wing_

_The personal journals of First Lady Helena Santos and Chief of Staff to the First Lady, Donnatella Moss_

 

_Edited by Penelope Socks_

 

Ⓒ2058 Fanfic Press

 

 

Editor’s Forward

 

The following is a selection of journal entries from First Lady Helena (Helen) Santos and the woman that served as her Chief of Staff, Donnatella (Donna) Moss. As their diaries span several years, this is an abridged version, therefore there will be large gaps in the dates. Both women wrote entries in the same journals, with the intention of their writings eventually becoming published. They provided suitable introductions to their stories and wrote with an future audience in mind, however, some entries will be forwarded with “editors notes”. Note that for reader’s ease, each woman’s entries have been formatted with slightly different fonts and different colours. It was a joy for me to compile this intimate look at life inside the most powerful house in the United State of America.

 

P. S. 

 

_Helen Santos - January 19 th, 2007 - Entry 1_

 

Tomorrow, I start living the first line of my obituary (and my wikipedia page; I’m not sure which is scarier). Tomorrow, the man I freely chose to spend my life with, who I love with all my being, and who I like most days of the week, becomes the most powerful man in the world. Tomorrow, I become the First Lady of the United States of America. 

 

I was born Helena Marcelina Chlebek in Stavely, Alberta, Canada. How I managed to become Helen Santos, wife to the first hispanic man to be elected President of the United States of America, is a long, unlikely story, but my personal origins are surprisingly easy to summarize. 

 

My father, Bogdan Chlebek, immigrated to Canada from Poland in 1935, when he was just four months old, and with his family, settled in the cattle community of Stavely in southern Alberta (where the population has remained a steady 453 people). In 1956, he traveled to Texas for a livestock auction for his father’s cattle ranch. There, he met Angelina Stawski, the descendant of Polish immigrants from the 1850s. The two bonded over their culture and Roman Catholic religion, fell in love, got married, moved to live in a tiny house on the Chlebek cattle ranch where they had four children. I was the third, born in 1968. When my grandfather, who owned the ranch, died in 1981, my father and mother decided to sell the ranch and move to warmer parts: Texas; to be closer to my mother’s family.

 

I, being, 13, was forced to move to Huston, Texas. I met Matt while I was in college (which is a tale better saved for another entry). 

 

Matthew Vincente Santos was born in Huston, Texas, in 1961. He’s the fourth out of seven children and grew up in the oldest Mexican-American neighbourhood in Huston - being of the sixth generation of Santos’ to do so. When I met him, he was a Naval Aviator in the Marines, having graduated top of his class at the United States Naval Academy. He is 7 years older than me, but once we realized we loved each other, it was meant to be. We were married the autumn of 1991. 

 

I studied Anthropology and Archeology in school and received my Bachelor of Arts degree in 1991 and my Master’s in 1993. It was hardly training for the life I’m about to live or the role I will soon have. Our tentative plan was, when Matt got out of the Marines full-time, I was going to return to school and get my PhD so I could teach. But when Matt entered the Marine Corps Reserve in ’93, he knew he wanted to pursue a career in politics. He told me it was going to be an adventure. I just never thought the adventure would land him into the position of president. 

 

He began as a Councilman for the City of Huston. During that time I had Peter Matthew, our son, now 11. Then Matt decided he wanted to run for mayor. He won. Twice. He ran for congress in 2000 and served three terms as Representative for Texas’ 18th District. I had Miranda Marie, who is now almost 6, in 2001: Matt’s first year in congress. How I survived that, I don’t know.

 

Matt had decided he was finished with politics. He had grown frustrated with the lack of impact he was able to have on every-day life of average people. Just when it looked like I could finish my education, Joshua Lyman showed up at our doorstep on Christmas Eve. Somehow, he convinced Matt to run for president. I had my mouth full of melted ice-cream when Matt shared with me the “stupid idea”. But I could see it in his eyes: he wanted it.    

 

At first, he entered the race for Democratic nominee for the 2006 presidential election simply to bring awareness to issues: mainly education reform. He simply wanted to stay in the race long enough for the Texas primaries so he could show so many children that the colour of their skin did not matter. Then, something bizarre happened. He actually started winning. He won the nomination and somehow, he won the presidency. 

 

Now, after almost 3 months, the transition period is over. Tomorrow he takes the oath of office. I will be at his side, as I always am. 

 

So I guess today is just as good of a day to start as any to start a new journal. I used to write in diaries a lot as a kid; it helped me process thoughts. Though those always remained private. This journal (much like my entire life now) is meant to be eventually read by whoever wants to. People in my position (or rather the position I will hold as of noon tomorrow) often publish personal memoirs, so why not do both at once? 

 

I asked the woman who I have asked to be my chief of staff, to join me in this chronicling venture. I will let her introduce herself. I asked her to be my right-hand person because I felt we have a friendship forming, plus, she recently relieved that she was technically born in Canada, so I feel as though our professional and personal connection was fate. She has much more experience in the world of politics than I, but even she has admitted she feels like a novice in this world. But at this point, I feel completely lost without her. 

 

If anything, this will be an entertaining look at life inside America’s most powerful home, from the point of view of two Canadians. 

 

_H.S._

 

 

_Donna Moss - 01/19/2007 - Entry 1_

 

Hello. This is my first time writing something that a large audience will actually read. I guess I shall start with introducing myself and catching everyone up with my story so far. 

 

My name is Donnatella Kathrine Moss. I was born in Warroad, Minnesota, which, just a few years ago, was repositioned into Canada when that section of the boarder was reexamined. Though I technically kept my American Citizenship, I was officially born in Manitoba, Canada. That is probably the most interesting fact about me. My mom is Celia Moss, a nurse, and my father is Kevin Moss, an accountant. We moved to Wisconsin when I was 6 and I have two younger brothers: Dario and Dante (Mom picked all our names).

 

I studied at the University of Wisconsin-Madison, though I never settled on a major. I had to drop out to support my boyfriend, who promptly dumped me after he finished medical school. It was then that I joined  "Bartlet for America" presidential campaign that eventually won. It was there that I met Josh Lyman. I had pretended to be assigned as his assistant. But I guess he liked me, because he hired me and I spent six years as his assistant - my official role was  Senior Assistant to the Deputy White House Chief of Staff for Strategic Planning. It was mostly good, but it got to a point where I could no longer work under him.  I quit and became a senior aid on the Bob Russell presidential campaign, at the same time when Josh was knocking on the Santos’ door. However, when Russell lost the nomination to Santos, I was hired as a campaign spokeswoman for Santos. Mrs. Santos and I grew to be friends, I feel, on the campaign. And, Josh and I, finally, realized the feelings we have for each other. We haven’t said as much, but we are dating.

 

When, against what felt like all odds, Santos won, I was offered deputy White House press secretary. But I knew I could not work under Josh and date him at the same time. I think that’s part of reason why it took us so long to get to this point. But when Helen Santos offered me the position of her Chief of Staff, I took it. Though my experience is largely in the West Wing, for some reason I felt it was the right choice for me. I’m not sure why I didn’t make this move years ago. 

 

Though this where we belong, I have a feeling the adventure has only started. 

 

Helen Santos is a smart and savvy woman. The Office of the First Lady can do so much. We might not be the activists that our predecessor Abby Bartlet and her staff were. But we really have a platform like no other, and we intend to use it.

 

D.M.


	2. Chapter 2

 

_Helen Santos - January 21 st, 2007 - Entry 2_

 

I want to assure readers and whoever will be eventually editing this diary that I won’t be recounting what I do each day, down to each minute. But yesterday was _probably_ one of those days that warrants such a documentation. My husband became the president yesterday in the longest and most tiring day known to humankind.

 

I woke up at 5:30 am. Matt was already awake, sipping coffee by the window. We were staying in Blair House - the President’s Guest House - for the transition. The kitchens were bigger than the house I grew up in. I signed as I sat down beside him on the window seat. 

 

“Are you ready for this?” he asked me. I doubt he had slept at all. I certainly had troubles.

 

I sighed softly. “No.” I rested my head on his shoulder. “But you are.”

 

He rested his head on mine. “You have been so very supportive.”

 

I laughed. “I doubt others have seen it that way.” I thought back to the few times when I have lashed out at his staff for pulling him away from Miranda and Peter - I’ll admit, for very important matters like who will be vice-president. The man who would have been vice-president died on election night. I will always be grateful to Leo McGarry for helping Matt realize this dream. His presence will be missed and his death left a hole, not just in the chain of succession. Matt’s victory was not the same without Leo. 

 

“You have,” he tried to convince me. “You never asked for this. But you have been here, this entire time, supporting me.” He kissed me on the temple. “I know you never wanted this.”

 

“I wanted it because I knew you wanted it.” I then stole his coffee out of his hands. “Just remember that,” I said before taking a sip.

 

“I doubt you’ll ever let me forget it.”

 

“Damn straight.”

 

He stood up. “We have a couple of hours before the cars pick us up to go to mass at the cathedral. The kids are with my parents.” _Thankfully_ we didn’t have to worry about our children on this hectic day. Matt’s entire family - his parents, five sisters and his only brother, as well as many of his aunts, uncles, and cousins - were all here for the inauguration. Even my parents and brothers, came from Huston, and my eldest sister came from Canada. Everyone understood why Matt and I were a bit unreachable, and I didn’t have to worry about the kids. “So, do you want to have sex with me in the shower one last time before you have to have to have sex with the president for the next four years?”

 

I kicked him. It was actually more of a push with my foot in the general direction of the bathroom. “No I do not!” 

 

If you are going to take anything from this journal, it is going to be that my husband has a very dirty sense of humour. 

 

We managed to get ready without much of a hitch. Matt, of course, got to put on long underwear since Lou, his Communications Director - who is now the White House Communications Director - didn’t want him wearing an overcoat. Something about youth and vitality and the re-elect. Which just makes me sick. I have to take this whole thing one day at a time while Matt is already planning for four years from now.

 

Meanwhile, I was putting on pantyhose and a dress for -23 degree weather (that’s celsius because I still run on metric. I’m not converting it or anything else in this diary because I am really hoping that by the time this gets published America will come to its senses and have converted - though I will admit, I will use inches and feet for some things). I was prepared for one of Matt’s _many_ Canadian jokes, but we were rudely interrupted by Bram, Matt’s personal aide, who announced it was time for Matt’s daily security briefing by the National Security Advisor. 

 

I waited in the sitting room while Matt was given the nuclear authorization codes.

 

It was the most surreal experience of this entire day, surprisingly. I was sitting on a couch in a room with 18th century paintings on the wall, waiting alone, while my husband, in the next room over, was given a card - _the_ Gold Codes - information to confirm his identity he would need incase he needs to launch a nuclear attack. He can end the world with a simple plastic card. With the current political situation between Russia and China in Kazakhstan, where there are American troops between two nuclear nations waiting for one to blink, I fear Matt may need them. I pray not. 

 

And people say the Cold War ended in 1991.

 

After, we then left for mass at Basilica of the National Shrine of the Immaculate Conception. We thanked the staff of Blair House for all of their help, and then Matt said to me, “We could make a run for it, you know. Catch the first plane out of Dulles, head to Panama.”

 

The fact that he can still humour me with such plans gave me hope for the future of our relationship. I know the stress of the election will seem pitiful in comparison to the stress we will face in our new roles.

 

After mass, we headed to the White House to escort the Bartlets to the Capitol. Matt drove with President Bartlet while Abbey Bartlet and I followed. It was the first time I’ve ever met Mrs. Bartlet. She had been on various state trips every time I came to the White House. But she put me at ease as soon as we entered our limousine. 

 

“So, how much do you want to kill your husband right now?” 

 

I laughed. “A lot.”

 

“Oh, don’t worry. You’ll want to kill him much more once tonight is finished.”

 

“Great.” I think she heard the regret in my voice.

 

“Chin up. The hard part is over. If your marriage can survive the campaign, you two can survive _anything_ ,” she said, making a sweeping gesture.

 

“Really? Do you have any advice?”

 

“For being First Lady or for being married to the president?”

 

“Both.”

 

“Well, you can actually make yourself pretty scarce as First Lady if you want to. The focus will be on your husband, particularly during the first hundred days. There will be quite times - politically. If you want to make any sort of change using your position, and you should, do it during the quite times. Have you settled on any issues you want to tackle?”

 

“I was thinking domestic abuse, child vaccination and maybe maternity and paternity leave.”

 

She nodded. “Good. Causes you can make real changes in. Let me know if you want any help with any child vaccination projects.” She then sighed. “ _Now,_ about the whole being married to a jackass thing: don’t be too freaked out if he leaves the nuclear codes or any other top-secret documents on the bedside table, just inform his personal aid. Make sure his personal aid is someone you can control and who is perhaps a bit intimidated by you and things will be fine. Don’t be afraid to call your husband a jackass. Pretty much everyone else in the world has to call him _sir_ or _Mr. President_ for the rest of his life. He’ll still get called bad names in the media, but you are the only person who is really allowed to call him a jackass. If he’s being one, tell him. Don’t worry if you guys argue. It’s the silence you need to watch out for. _And finally,_ make sure get drunk with your chief of staff and a selection of the female staff _once_ and only _once._ There will be a time when you need it, but never do it again. You chose Donna Moss as your chief of staff, correct?”

 

I nodded. 

 

“Good choice. I kinda regret not stealing her away from my husband at the end. You two will do fine.”

 

“Thank you, ma’am.”

 

“I think you might be the last person to ‘ma’am’ me as first lady. God, I am so ready to be rid of all that stuffiness.”

 

“Are you going to be the first to do it to me? Because I’m really not looking forward to four, let alone possibly eight years of only hearing my name from my husband.”

 

“Of course!” she said with a laugh. “Circle of life or entrance into the most exclusive club or any of that stuff.” For the record, she did whisper “ma’am” into my ear after we left the balcony after Matt’s swearing in was over. It was the only time I had to stop myself from laughing at the absurdity of it all.

 

My short interactions with Abbey Bartlet made me sad I didn’t have more time to glean knowledge from her. I know our paths will probably overlap again for other ceremonial purposes. But she also gave me confidence. If she retained her sass after 8 years of health scandals, a nearly successful assassination attempt, and a child being kidnapped (which I pray non happen to us), I can make it too.

 

Much of what occurred next is on film. If you are reading this diary, I am assuming you have seen it. We were seated, there were performances, then exactly at noon I held the bible as Matt took the oath of office. In that moment I forgot all my fear, all the cameras, the historic moment of it all, the cold on my legs, and the fact that the bible clearly states not to swear oaths on it (just another sin Matt elected ignored for public image - he didn’t want to appear too knowledgeable about bible passages, especially when Bartlet was sworn in on bibles). I just focused on Matt and my pride for him. I also remembered what Mrs. Bartlet said: the hard part is over.

 

From there we walked the parade. It was another two hours in heels and pantyhose. The kids joined us for a bit. Near the end, Matt leaned in to whisper in my ear. “See this is why I married you, because you are a big, strong Polish-Canadian woman. We should start calling you Helena again.” He said my name with the most annoying accent. “No amount of cold can phase you.”

 

“Matthew,” I gritted out. “I’m not above hitting you upside the head. I can’t feel my legs or my feet.” I opted for the 2 inch heel, but even that low heel was becoming painful.

 

He kissed me and the crowd seemed to go a bit crazier. “You look lovely. Have I told you that yet today?”

 

“Nice save,” I muttered.

 

When we returned to the White House and Matt was ushered to business. I was frankly glad to be rid of him. Donna was in the residence, ready to welcome me “home.” I don’t think I can ever call this place _home._

 

Perhaps I shall let her take over from here and I shall continue to recount the _joys_ of 9 inaugural balls tomorrow.

 

_H.S._

 

 

 

_Donna Moss - 01/21/2007 - Entry 2_

 

My day, up until the balls that is, was much quieter than Mrs. Santos’. I woke up next to Josh. Since the end of the campaign, I’ve practically moved in with him. Perhaps we are moving a bit fast, but we did dance around each other for many years. I no longer work for him, or even with him really, so I think I’m okay with out current path. I love him, and I think the feeling is mutual. 

 

 Josh was on his Blackberry already. I just smiled up at him _._ He _actually_ put his cellphone down and kissed me.

 

“You ready to take over the White House?” he asked me.

 

“Are you ready to take over the country?” I joked in reply. 

 

He nodded.

 

We got ready, only to receive a knock on the door of the apartment. Josh’s first security briefing as chief of staff. During that time I made sure to pack up what I needed for the inaugural balls, along with Josh’s tuxedo. It all felt so fancy. I never attended any of the balls back when Bartlet became president, though I did get to attend a couple state dinners and other formal functions. I never thought I’d ever be living this sort of life, but I wouldn’t trade it. 

 

Josh finished his briefing and we headed out. We actually killed an hour at the White House before the inauguration. Josh wanted to take one last stab at getting CJ Cregg - the former Press Secretary who served as White House Chief of Staff for the past two years, not to mention a good friend - to stay on. She ultimately declined but I understand why. People often don’t stay more than two years in jobs at the White House. You have to be some sort of mental patient to do so.  

 

I said goodbyes to many people. Most of them called me insane for staying, even if I’m changing wings. But, there will be a few familiar faces to share the insanity with Josh, like Margret, Ed, and Larry.

 

We then left for the Capitol where we were one of the many guests on the balcony for the historic moment. The President, and now I can refer to Matthew Santos as _the President,_ looked so in charge when he took the oath, and Mrs. Santos was simply encouraging to see her bravery in the fact of what it all meant. I worked for the Bartlets for many years, and while their knowledge and scholarly wisdom what what America needed in the late 1990s, that was nearly a decade ago. We are in a whole new era now. The Santoses represent the future. I guess I’m a part of that future too.

 

After the oath of office, the Santoses went off to walk the parade while Josh and I and many of the other staff who I have gotten to know somewhat over the past few month, headed back to the White House for the “hand off”, along with Sam Seaborn and Annabeth Schott.

 

Josh and Sam went off to the West Wing and I, surprisingly, wanted to follow them. But then Annabeth grabbed me by the arm. 

 

“Come on,” she said. “Time to change the world by being overpaid party planners.” Annabeth will be the First Lady’s Press Secretary and I can think of no one else I want to work with.

 

We were shown our suite in the East Wing. The suite Abbey Bartlet used with her staff is currently being restored for much of the next year, so an usher showed us to the alternative suite. It is so grand, so much more than I ever got under Josh. 

 

I left Annabeth to get settled in while I headed up to the Residence of the First Family. I made sure the Santos’ things were being moved in and put in the right rooms and I even got to peek in on the rooms that the Bartlets had allowed the White House interior decorator to redecorate: Peter’s and Miranda’s rooms. With approval from Mrs. Santos, Peter’s room was painted in rich colors and decorated in an aquatic theme - apparently he loves marine biology - while Miranda’s room was painted pink and decorated in princess things. They were both adorable.

 

I was checking out the Presidential bedroom - it had been given a quick, but refreshing, coat of grey paint and a matching modern bed with blue linens moved in - when Mrs. Santos entered.

 

“Welcome home,” I said with a smile. 

 

She looked around, daunted at everyone, redecorating and moving things in. “Yeah, I guess so.” She let out a deep breath. “Secret Service just informed me they want the kids to stay here tonight.”

 

I nodded. “I think the staff has already planned for this. They want to get to know the kids better. I think there are rumours of bouncy castles in the basement.”

 

“So I should just arrange for the kids to be dropped off here? I think they are with my parents.”

 

“Secret Service has already arranged for Miranda and Peter to come here shortly. Your parents will be told to go to one of the inaugural balls.”

 

“Will I at least be able to see them and meet the people looking after them?” 

 

I nodded and tried to put Mrs. Santos at ease. She seemed to be okay after seeing Curtis Shaeffer again, who assured her that he, along with 15 other ushers, maids, and other staff would be entertaining the kids for the night. I understand her fears of leaving her children with complete strangers, but hopefully we can hire some nannies that she can get to know and trust. 

 

She was in a much better mood after the kids came, got to see their new rooms, and got to meet everyone. 

 

“Ma’am,” I said as we were watching Curtis give the kids a general tour of the residence, “We should start to get you ready for the balls.”

 

“Are you my dressing maid now too?” she asked. “Because I’m not complaining if you are, but please stop ‘ma’am’ing me.”

 

“I had a quick glance at the gown we ordered for you. I figured you might want one for tonight.”

 

I think shall leave this here and leave the energy to truly recount the inaugural balls tomorrow.

 

_D.M._


	3. Chapter 3

Donna Moss - 01/22/2007 - Entry 3

After I had helped Mrs. Santos with her hair, make-up and into her gown, I hurried back to the east wing to get ready myself. Annabeth was in her office. The door was wide open and she was sniffling into a tissue, staring at a flowing, tea-length apricot ballgown she had hanging in the window. I called her name softly, but she still jumped. 

“You alright?” I asked.

She nodded, then sighed. “I hate apricot, but I picked the colour because it reminded me of Leo.”

“He would have thought it was beautiful. You’ll be beautiful.” I wasn’t daft. I knew what had happened between Annabeth and Leo on the campaign, but I also understood that she wanted to keep it quiet and I respect that. 

“It just doesn’t feel right, ya know? Celebrating this without him.”

“It isn’t right. He should be here. It is as much his victory as it is anyone else’s.”

“He told me, if we won, that he was only going to dance with blondes at the inaugural balls. We were going to be his champaign.”

I shook my head with amusement. Sometimes I had wondered if Leo had been stuck in 1971, or if he was trying to make the younger men appear less sexist in comparison to his ‘good old days’.

“Do you want help getting ready? I already helped Mrs. Santos.” 

She shook her head. “Go, take care of yourself before Josh comes running to you to tie his tie.”

“He has Margret for that now.”

“Is she really staying on as Secretary to the Chief of Staff?” 

I shrugged. “She said she was only going to help CJ for her first few weeks, but she’s still here even now.”

“I guess some people are just needed to tell the story.”

I nodded, realizing she was right, and left her to get ready myself. I did my make-up and gently curled my hair with an curling iron I borrowed from Mrs. Santos - feeling so odd after working so many many years for Josh in the bullpen to be curling my hair in my own office bathroom. I then stepped into my evening gown, a dark pink sheath dress with a straight square neckline, but without sleeves. Perhaps I looked a bit like a Barbie, but I didn’t care. After so many months with two different presidential campaigns, it was time to celebrate. 

I was actually killing some time, setting up a computer facilities had delivered for me, when Josh showed up, looking so proper already in his black bowtie. 

“I think your office is bigger than mine,” he said as he walked in and started to look around.

I ignored him and stood up. “You look nice.” 

He then finally saw me and his jaw dropped a little. “You… you look… amazing.”

I smiled. That was all I wanted to hear. 

Josh and I managed to attend four inaugural balls. I bow down to Mrs. Santos for managing to do over twice as what I did. 

At the first ball, we joined the President and First Lady at their table for dinner. After getting through many speeches, we watched them dance. They looked so glamorous, so young and in love. 

It wasn’t until the second ball (we were trying to keep up with the couple of the night), until we caught up with Sam Seaborn. Josh and I finally got to meet his mystery fiancée. 

Ainsley Hays had worked for the White House Counsel under Lionel Tribby in President Bartlet’s first term. She had left for California and was there for a few years, but had returned for Leo’s funeral recently and to see if she had a shot at White House Counsel under President Santos. She had inquired about the job without her fiancé’s knowledge. She knew he was going to get roped into serving as Josh’s Deputy Chief of Staff, so she wanted to see if she would have a reason to let her fiancé move their life together to DC.

Yes. Sam Seaborn is marrying Ainsley Hays. I didn’t quite get the story of how they came together, but I am simply so happy. Though the realization broke Josh. It was quite funny actually. Ainsley wasn’t around when Sam told Josh, but I was. It went like this: we were at a table, sipping champaign, when the conversation started.

Sam: “So my fiancée is here tonight.”  
Me: “Oh! So we finally get to meet her.”  
Sam: “You both actually already know her.”  
Josh: “Please don’t let it be the prostitute.”

That was the first time of the night I cuffed Josh. Hey, if CJ isn’t around to do it, then I have to. 

Sam: “No, Josh.”  
Josh: “Oh, thank God.”  
Sam: “Our boss actually hired her as our lawyer. I’m marrying Ainsley Hayes.”  
Josh: “YOU’RE MARRYING THE REPUBLICAN?”

That was the second time I hit him, because I saw Ainsley approaching the table. She looked so lovely in a slimming black dress and her hair down straight. She sat beside Sam and he kissed her on the cheek. 

Ainsley: “Someone summoned me?”  
Josh: “It’s like summoning Satan! YOU’RE MARRYING THE REPUBLICAN?”

I hit him again before Sam could throttle him across the table.

Me: “Oh, congratulations! I am so happy for you two.”

The night kinda spiralled from there. We ordered drinks to celebrate (and to shut Josh up).

I remember the third ball. Not so much the fourth and I feel really bad for drinking to that point, but it was stress relief, the speeches were getting so boring and no one was paying attention to us anyways. Josh swears we made it to a fifth ball, but Josh is not good with alcohol. 

I do remember the the 24-hour diner we got pancakes at. 

I was actually pretty sober by that time, as was Sam (thankfully, or else he and Josh might have gotten into fisticuffs). Annabeth had joined us at that point and I was taking care of her. She apparently can’t hold her alcohol either. We were sitting at a table in a corner, still accompanied by Josh’s Secret Service agents. Thankfully, the joint was pretty empty, because we were not giving a good face to the new government. I’m not sure how the American people would react to learn that the new president’s Chief of Staff, Deputy Chief of Staff and White House Counsel spent their 13th hour on the job drunk in a 24 hour pancake house with the First Lady’s Chief of Staff and Press Secretary.

“I can’t believe you are marrying a Republican,” Josh was going on. I was too busy rubbing Annabeth’s back and trying to get water into her to hit him.

“Josh, I am sitting right here,” Ainsley said, her mouth full of pancakes. 

“Please shut up, Josh,” Sam said, “Or else I’m not going to ask you to be my best man.”

“Why would I do that?” Josh retorted.

“Because you are my best friend!”

“Oh, okay.”

After our bizarre meal, Sam and Ainsely got Annabeth back to her apartment since Josh could barely stand and I apparently had to deal with him. I think I had the short end of that agreement. 

And that is why the five of us (mainly Josh) were pretty fowl our second day of office. 

D.M.

 

Helen Santos - January 22nd, 2007 - Entry 3

Donna is clearly too nice to truly recount my bitchiness, which is a shame for readers, but great for be. My ‘dressing maid’ comment was totally uncalled for, but I had just dealt with too many people at that point in the day. But I knew I was going to have to deal with more before the day was over.

Donna was amazing in doing my make-up and putting my hair in a low bun off to one side. She then helped me into my dress. Now, I’ve had to dress up for functions with Matt before - when he was a congressman and especially when he was mayor - but I typically wore black to blend in. The dress Donna and I picked was a light cream chiffon with a single shoulder and a ruched bodice. The waistline was dropped to just below my hips and the material flowed from there.

I was a bit worried about it looking like a wedding dress, but black detailing made it look appropriate. Besides, I will admit, it made me feel pretty. I needed something to get me through the night. The look that Matt gave me when he walked in was worth it. He didn’t even notice the very sudden renovations to the residence. 

“Wow. You’re beautiful,” he said, kissing my cheek. 

“Yeah, and you’re late.”

He shrugged. “Not my fault.”

I hurried him up but I have no idea why. The nine inaugural balls were… painful. 

Okay, the first one was pretty fun: the food was delicious, and the speeches the first go around weren’t that boring. We then danced our first dance. The song was our wedding song: I Do It For You (hey, we were married in 1991, don’t judge). It was preformed live by Bryan Adams (my fellow Canadian). It was truly a special moment. We were the only ones on the dance floor, arms around each other, simply smiling and swaying. While these days, I feel like the song is from my prospective (everything I do, I do it for Matt), it’s okay. It is my privilege. He took me as I was, all those years ago, loved me, and, while I might complain, there’s no one I’d rather give my life up for. During the song I told him I loved him and he told me he loved me. It was the first time that day we had exchanged those words, but they truly meant something. 

When we started this crazy adventure, he told me “Tell me not to and I won’t.” I never told him not to. While I may regret it sometimes, it took courage not to say no. When I look into Matt’s eyes, I know God wants us here, together. Perhaps that makes a subservient woman, but I don’t think so. I had to swallow everything I’ve ever wanted to do with my career for Matt and his crazy dream. But he never told me to. I chose this life for us. I will make the most of it because I know he will do so much good.

Anyways. I’m getting mushy. 

To be honest, the next seven balls all blurred together. However, I finally allowed myself a sip of champaign at the ninth. It’s a good thing too because my BRILLIANT husband had someone slip the band his favourite song for our last dance: You Can Leave Your Hat On. I just wanted to kill him at that moment.

“I’m not dancing,” I insisted, going back to my seat. 

Matt tried to lured me up by dancing by himself and swaying his hips. He is such a dork sometimes. The crowd laughed at our antics and I had to give in, simply because I couldn’t watch him make a fool of himself. I had to join him in making fools of us both.

Because I love him. 

I’ve never been so relieved as I was when we finally left that last ball. Matt gave me his suit jacket since it was so cold. I guess the official White House Photographer got a shot of us waiting for the motorcade with me in his coat, his arm around me, us still laughing from our last dance. It made for an amazing image of my second favourite moment of the night.

My favourite moment was much more private. 

When we got back to the White House, we checked on the kids. They were both asleep in Peter’s new bed. The staff, particularly the Chief Usher - Curtis - assured me they had fun but were also well behaved. We thanked them, then got to spend a moment tucking our children in and kissing them goodnight. 

After we left Peter’s room, Matt picked me up, bridal style, and carried me over the threshold into the presidential bedroom for the first time and placed me on the bed.

“I bet that hasn’t been done in a long time,” he laughed.

I tapped him on his cheek. “Yes, I get it. You are young, hot, strong, and in charge of a country. Now I am going to bed and you’d better not stop me.”

I’m still in charge of some things, or so I’d like to think. 

HS


	4. Chapter 4

Helen Santos - February 26, 2007 - Entry 4

It has been a few weeks since Matt has become president and things are going smoothly. Almost too smooth. I’m still having some problems adjusting, but the kids are doing surprisingly well.

The first couple of days I accompanied Peter and Miranda to school and picked them up, along with our security detail. After the first week, Peter assured me he was fine without me, and Miranda wondered why I was coming with them when she had so many other adults to take her to school. I felt almost bad asking their Secret Service agents if they could take them to school without me. They told me it would actually be easier without me as not as many agents would be needed and they could take one vehicle.

Yeah, so now I am making a bunch of high-ranking former military officials take my kids to school.

Which is why, when the issue of a nanny came up during our second week here, I asked Donna and Annabeth how it would look if we privately hired family member to care for the kids (Matt brings in an hefty salary these days). They told me it might make a small news story, but it would be worth it for my peace of mine (I think they just want someone who will calm my nerves). Pretty soon Matt and I will be going on his first international trip (to the US’ biggest ally: Canada) and I know many trips will follow, so I want someone who my kids already know and who I won’t mind them getting attached to.

So I approached Matt about it one night after dinner. Matt has settled into our new life fine as well. It has actually done wonders to our marriage. I see him more now than when he was a congressman and dividing his time between DC and Texas. Now, we often see each other in the mornings and, it is odd, but he always eats dinner with the kids and me (I still get to make the family dinner in the residence, which brings some normalcy) unless there is function of some kind, and, so far, we have gone to bed together every night.

His only opinion about the nanny: “Anyone but your mother.”

Matt does not like my mother. “Really?” I asked, not wanting the conversation to devolve into an argument.

He looked at me from above the reports he was reading on the couch. “Do you honestly think she will clear White House security to work here? And if we hire your mom, we would also have to deal with your dad who will want to cook for us.”

I grunted. I love my dad, but he his an extremely devout Catholic and loves cooking with cabbage. “Fine. My family is clearly out.” Yes, I have a sister, but she loves her life in Alberta, and both my brothers have lives, wives, and their own kids in Huston. 

Matt then sighed. “And my dad isn’t doing too well. Mom will her hands full with him pretty soon.” Matt’s dad is showing early signs of Alzheimers, the why they were never seen as part of the campaign. “So I guess it is down to my sisters. I never thought having five sisters would come in handy,” he laughed.

Though I am closest to his youngest sister, Lucia - we were actually roommates back in college and she is the reason why Matt and I met - and having a friend from my old life would be nice, I did’t want to uproot her from her three kids. So I suggested, “What about Maria?” Maria is Matt’s oldest sister. She too served in the military, though she is now a nurse. She has been divorced for over 10 years now and her youngest of two kids just entered college. 

Matt nodded. “I could deal with Maria.”

So, in my own private victory, I asked Maria to be nanny to my kids, and she said yes. Working at the White House, even if it is for your little brother, is a hard offer to turn down. She has been so helpful and Peter and Miranda love her. 

I guess I should quickly write how I am. I guess I’m glad that I know my kids will be taken care of by someone who loves them, even when I’m shipped off to all four corners of the globe. It’s one weight off of me. And Matt’s and my relationship has been great. I’ve even slowly started to get used to all the Secret Service agents. I was daunted at first, but they do try to keep their presence minimal. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve always been grateful for their service, even back during the campaign. I know us being the first mixed-race first family puts added pressure on them. But the agents are… less stuffy than one might think, though they will never show it outwardly.

I was walking out of the Oval Office one afternoon (Matt had called me down there to ask me about the kids and we ended up talking about what we were going to make for dinner - it was a weird moment in my very bizarre life) when I heard one of the agents say “Jade has left the Jaguar.”

I looked at the agent - Mike - quizzically. “Jade? Is that my code name?”

He nodded. “Yes, Ma’am.”

I eyed him. “As in the precious stone or the more archaic meaning of an ill-tempered woman.” Honestly, I was going to be fine with either meaning.

“The stone, Ma’am. But that isn’t the main reason.”

“So what is it?”

“Are you familiar with Star Wars Extended Universe novels?”

I laughed. Someone in the Secret Service is as big of a geek as me and Matt. “So Jade as in Mara Jade. I approve.” I really do. Mara Jade is Luke Skywalker’s bad-ass wife. “And Jaguar for Matt?”

He nodded. “The third largest cat, native to the Americas. Plus he is a bit more… agile than past presidents. We considered Bail, but that was too obvious.” Matt and I are fully aware that Matt looks like the guy that played Bail Organa in the Star Wars prequels. Matt embraces it like the nerd he is. Mike continued, “and then your code name would have had to start with a ‘B’ as per protocol.”

“You should have done it. I would have been okay with Bitch as my code name.” I was curious. “And the kids?”

“Jasmine for Miranda and Jasper for Peter.” 

I smiled. They both fit. My princess and my rock.

So far, acting as hostess for White House events has been a stretch for me. I don’t like it at all. My staff assure me that once things quiet down, we can start forming some sort of agenda. Tomorrow we are hosting a “Daughters of the American Revolution” event. The event is to raise funds for one of the special needs schools they support. It’s a worthy cause, but I am so out of my depth.

Matt finds the fact that I am hosting such an event positively hysterical. I don’t see why. He has much ancestral connection to the American Revolution as I do. This is all his fault anyways. I have half a mind to ditch him when we go on our first “out of state” visit next week. 

H.S.

 

Donna Moss - 02/26/2007 - Entry 4

I guess adjustment and victories will be the theme of today’s diary entries. 

I’m really enjoying being in charge of the East Wing. I organize events such as this upcoming “Daughters of the American Revolution” donor dinner - or rather I organize other people to organize these events. I somehow feel so efficient and impactful, like I’m organizing and making a change, even thought our first ‘real’ event is this dinner. Josh mocks me - I guess like the President mocks Mrs. Santos. I have about the same connection to the American Revolution as she does. My father’s family came from Ireland during the Irish Potato famine in the 1840s. And my mother’s parents immigrated to America in the early 1920s from Italy.

Though, I’m not sure if either the president nor Josh can exactly mock us for our lack of ties to the American Revolution. Okay, sure the president’s ancestors were in the Americas LONG before the American Revolution, but he still has no ancestral ties to the event. Neither does Josh. 

Which has made me realize we are such a different face to the White House, not just because President Santos is Latino. President Bartlet had a great-great-great-great grandfather was a signer of the Declaration of Independence, and Abigail Bartlet has ancestors who privateered during the American Revolution. The rest of us are all products of fairly recent immigrants. We really show that immigrants, of all backgrounds, build this country. 

I know planning dinners is such a trivial thing, but, I feel like I’m making a difference and we will be able to do more. We are in the planning on creating an initiative for child vaccination - educating people about the real necessity of vaccines for their babies. I also want to see if we can start a “baby box” program here in the US. I’ve heard about it from the internet. In some Scandinavian countries, parents are given boxes with items for their baby’s first few weeks or months. It has dramatically reduced infant mortality, something the US needs. Republicans are all about saving babies inside the womb. They should be concerned with babies after they are born - right? Mrs. Santos is completely on board. We are going to try to raise enough funds for an experiment and provide boxes for DC for a year, to show congress this is a worthy health-care initiative.

Josh thinks it’s “fluffy”. I think he’s just mad that such a simple solution can bring so much good, particularly for poorer communities. 

As for Josh and I, dating him is everything I expected. He works long hours, we tried the whole car-pooling thing, but since I don’t have to work the hours he does, I often ended up taking the bus home rather than wait for him and his entourage. But the less I have to see of him makes the whole ‘living together’ situation easier to adjust him. When I see him, it is just us. 

Well, us and his Secret Service agent who has to sleep on the couch. Which is why we are looking at apartments together. 

He suggested it in the most non-romantic way I can imagine. It was Saturday night and we were watching CNN. It was during a commercial break. “Hey, you should get rid of that apartment of yours. Have you been there since the campaign ended?”

“Josh? Are you asking me to move in with you?”

“No,” he said. “But between my pay raise and your pay raise and the fact that the Secret Service agents draw straws to see who will do the night shift here, I think we should upgrade.”

“Yes!” I exclaimed.

We looked at a number of places. Well, I looked at a number of places. Josh only cared about the location and the price. I settled on a town house, only a 20 minute drive from the White House. It has a garage and a small suite downstairs and a two bedroom home upstairs. It is quaint, but beautifully decorated. 

I thought we were only going to rent it. Josh ended up buying it. We move in on the 1st and I couldn’t be happier. 

We also celebrated with Sam and Ainsley two weeks ago. They were married in a very small, but very elegant wedding ceremony on Valentine’s day. They wanted to keep it quiet and have been planning this since November. It was just Ainsley’s and Sam’s families attended, along with C.J., Danny - both of who flew from California - Toby Ziegler, Charlie Young, and Zoey Bartlet. It was great to see them all again, even if it was just for a simple ceremony and dinner. I don’t miss “the old days” but I made so many friends and I’m very grateful we became like a family. I have a feeling many of us will always keep in touch. 

Ainsley simply looked amazing, and Sam just so in love. Josh was the best man and pretty much roasted Sam in the best man’s toast. I knew I should have looked it over before he gave it. 

Josh was never in communications for a darn good reason. Secret Service calls him Rampage - they called him that even back when he was campaigning for Hoynes. But now that I am dating him, I guess I finally got my own code name: Rose. They say once you get a code-name, that remains your code name for life. Not a bad code name to have. 

D.M.


	5. Chapter 5

_Donna Moss - 03/05/2007 - Entry 5_

 

The President and First Lady left this morning on their first international trip. They are flying to Ottawa as I type this, so things are actually pretty quiet around the East Wing, which is good for me. Mrs. Santos bugged me about joining them in Canada - something about introducing me to my true heritage of hockey, cold, some guy named Tim, and poutine - but I had to say no. I’m currently in moving in mode since Josh is no help to me with the new place. He is busy with the newly confirmed Vice-President: Eric Baker. 

 

Baker is nothing of note. Democrat from Pensilvania. His wife is a pleasant woman, but wants little to with politics, so I doubt we will see much of either of them in the East Wing. If, heaven forbid, something happens to the president, Baker would make a fine replacement. Though, I’m not sure if I’d stay in the East Wing. Yes, I believe Mrs. Santos and I are becoming friends - during the DAR donor dinner last week she whispered in my ear “Thanks for the notes for my speech. Without them I would have been totally lost.” To which I replied “Thank google for the info and Sam about the stuff on education.” She then said, “Well, then, thank Josh’s _other_ other half for me.” But it’s the fact that she is willing to “fake it to make it” (her words) for the impact she can have makes working for her worth it. I’m not sure if I could work for a woman who didn’t want to use this office for good.

 

Some thought the vice president should be a woman, given that the President was basically able to select who he wanted [yes, the senate had to confirm, but between Ainsley Hays Seaborn (I AM SO HAPPY I GET TO WRITE THAT!!), the Republican White House Counsel, and a Republican Secretary of State with Arnold Vinick, the Republican Senate would have looked fairly bad denying Santos’ first pick). I personally think a woman vice president would have sent a powerful message and may even launch her towards being the first female president.

 

Mrs. Santos had a differing opinion. She agreed with her husband - and Josh - that first female to hold that high of office needs to win it, to show that women can do the same things the same way as men. She used the example of Prime Minister Kim Campbell of Canada, who I did not know about. She was Canada’s first - and thus far only - female prime minister. But she was not elected (and here is where I got “Canadian Governance 101”). After Campbell’s predecessor retired (before a bunch of scandals could come to light), she was chosen by her party as the new leader of the party, thus becoming the Canadian prime minister). Canada can’t really say that they have elected a female prime minister, because she wasn’t the leader of the party at the time of the election.

 

Josh also brought up the fact that (and this was a discussion the four of us were having with a few other advisors in the Oval Office one afternoon early in the presidency - the fact that Mrs. Santos and I were part of the advisors really showed me what effect we can have, particularly on women’s issues), after Santos’ first term, we will have 12 years of Democratic rule as “baggage”. If Santos wins another 4, that will mean a practically unprecedented 16 year “blue streak”. Whoever runs after Santos will likely not get in. So Baker was chosen. 

 

So as of right now. I’m enjoying the quiet.

 

Well as quiet as one’s life can be when you are in the middle of a move. I might try to slip out early today and get some things done on the house. Because I can do that now that I’m not working for Josh.

 

 

 

_Helen Santos - March 7, 2007 - Entry 6_

 

This will be an entry re-telling Matt’s first international trip, which turned into what could be a nuclear war. And I’m not being dramatic. My apologies if this runs long.

 

We arrived in Ottawa in the morning and were greeted by Prime Minister Jean-Baptiste Dallaire - a shorter man of average build in his mid-sixties with grey hair - and his wife, Nadine Dallaire. The first order of the trip was a joint-press conference with plenty of jokes (and I was the consenting butt of them). Here’s an excerpt from what Matt said.

 

“Canada and the Unites States has shared over seven decades of close diplomatic relation and an even longer shared history. Prime Minister Dallaire and I hope to work together to not only build both countries, but also to ensure peace in the world for our children. Our economies are intertwined and our trade only strengthens both countries. Goodness knows I am personally grateful for Canadian exports to America. I love my beer, the Dallas Stars, and of course, my wife. Though I’m not sure she would appreciate being in that list. Canada and the United States are much more than neighbours, we are allies. Except when it comes to the World Juniors.” [ _Editor’s note:_ The Juniors are a yearly international hockey tournament].

 

After the press conference, there were more official business of state - I do believe there were meetings on trade deals, involvement in NAFTA, and the situation in Kazakhstan - but I was ushered to a photoshoot with Nadine Dallaire. She is 20 years my senior, but so very quiet. She is a thin woman who wears black and her brown and grey hair up in a bun. She personifies the librarian that she once was. Prime Minister’s wives are rarely in the media, unlike First Ladies. 

 

“You are quite a figure here,” she said in broken English. “The media loves that you were born in Canada.”

 

“So I hear,” I replied in my rusty Quebecois.

 

“You speak French?” she asked in her native language as she lead us to a bench in the Chinese garden we were walking in. 

 

I nodded. “I might be an Albertan girl, but I was raised speaking English and Polish, so languages came easy to me. Plus I was an angry thirteen-year-old when I was forced to move to Texas. I kept up my French in hopes I would eventually be able to get a job here and move back. Then, of course, Matt came along.”

 

She looked at the photographer. “Are we though?”

 

The photographer nodded and packed up his things. 

 

She seemed to be unburdened and visibly relaxed as soon as he left. “Thank you, for being willing to speak French with me. My lack of English often makes days like this so awkward.”

 

I smiled. “I can imagine even with my four languages I’m sure I’m in for plenty of awkward days playing hostess.”

 

Then we were just two women talking about our unique situation. She demanded I call her Nadine and I demanded she return the favour. We visited the library where she does outreach work and we walked to the nearest Tim Hortons for a quick snack. It was nice just to stroll through the streets, Secret Service agents not particularly worried. It as almost as if I was home. 

 

 It was then time for the state dinner. There I continued to be the butt of the export jokes. Matt even said in his remarks. “Jean-Baptiste and I hope to keep the Canadian dollar on par with the American to increase trade to benefit both countries. I know if the Canadian loonie becomes too low, I might be tempted to trade in my own Canadian loonie - I call her Helen - for American currency.” That remark got Matt a _cold_ stare from Nadine. It was pretty funny. 

 

Dallaire didn’t make things better by saying. “We hope to foster the Canadian/US relationship. Otherwise I’d hate for Matt to get the Canadian cold down in the president’s bedroom. Don’t worry, Mrs. Santos, we will always recognize your joint citizenship if you ever want to return home. _I_ know your true allegiance when it comes to the important matters.”

 

I knew my line and I knew my audience. I pumped my fist in the air. “Go Oilers!” What can I say? I’m an Edmonton Oilers fan.

 

We retired for the night at 24 Sussex - an address known by all Canadians as the prime minister’s official residence. Matt kissed me so very softly once we got to our suite. “I love you. Thank you for putting up with all the jokes. Dallaire and I had some pretty serious talks about Kazakhstan and we don’t want details getting out prematurely. You were our distraction.”

 

I rolled my eyes. “So you weren’t just being _jackasses_? I’m glad I could be of service to my countries. I’m not annoyed,” I assured him. “I’m just glad to be home.”

 

“Home?” he asked as he discarded his pants. “Do you really still consider Canada to be your home?”

 

I shook I head. “That’s not what I meant, though part of me will always consider Canada to be where I come from. Home is wherever I am bugging you and you are bugging me. It means, after everything, we are still together and in love.”

 

He smiled and kissed me again.

 

It was 3 AM when everything went to hell.

 

We were woken by a phone-call. Matt was up and answered the phone almost immediately - a remnant from his time in the marines. “Yes, okay,” was all he said before hanging up the phone and getting out of the bed.

 

I was almost afraid to ask. “Matt?”

 

He was already pulling on a pair of pants. “Explosions and shots in Astana.” He didn’t have to say any more. Astana is the capital of Kazakhstan. He had a shirt on and was out the door before I could even process what had just happened.

 

Not knowing what to do, I quickly dressed in a pair of dress pants and a sweater and wandered the halls until I found the room where Matt had escaped to. Lights were on in the large sitting room and there seemed to be two dozen aids and Canadian military officials. Nadine was waiting outside for me in much the same state I was.

 

“What is going on?”

 

“Russians bombed a Chinese camp in Kazakhstan outside of the capital. The Chinese retaliated. Eight Chinese, fourteen Russians and ten Americans are dead already.”

 

For those unaware, here is the “situation in Kazakhstan boiled down to a paragraph”: the Kazakhstan Prime Minister Issetov was assassinated and replaced by Prime Minister Tarimov. Tarimov has a long history with the Russians and, of course, no one believes that the elections were fair, least of all the Chinese. The Chinese were in the middle of trying to get an oil pipeline when Issetov was assassinated. The Chinese invaded. The Russians invaded. And President Bartlet put American lives in-between the two. It has just been one long game of chicken Matt has tried to solve since being sworn in. He has managed to get Dallaire on board, but up until that point, no other heads of state would touch the situation. Then, of, course, we found ourselves in that early morning on the brink of nuclear war. 

 

“What do we do?” I asked Nadine. She has five more years of experience at this.

 

“We make our husbands’ coffee the way they like it, then stay out of the way unless they need their most trusted advisors.” She held out her hand for me. “You can do it.”

 

I took her hand and we entered into the chaos of people on the phone. I recognized the face of the Canadian Minister of Foreign Affairs Sarah Jakobson and as soon as we entered, Arnold Vinick - Matt’s Secretary of State and the Republican nominee Matt beat for his job - and Josh passed by us. Both looked like they had just rolled out of bed and gotten on a plane.

 

 Nadine and I quietly made coffee using a counter in the corner and I watched her as she gently brushed her husband’s back and slipped the mug of coffee into his hand. She then retreated to a couch. I tried to do the same with Matt, but when I brushed his shoulder, he looked up and gasped. I instantly felt bad for interrupting him, and I was ready for the yelling from Josh, but Matt shouted. “You speak Polish!”

 

I nodded like it was the most obvious thing in the world. If it had been a different situation, I would have reminded him of _all_ his Polish jokes.

 

Josh started scrambling. “Get President Buzak back on the phone. We have a fluent translator.” 

 

‘Fluent’ might be a bit of a stretch, but I can grasp the gist of whatever is said in the language and reply with the vocabulary of a pre-teen. 

 

I was then sat between Matt and Josh with Dallaire, Vinick, and Jakobson. I was pretty freaked out when I was handed the receiver, but Matt held my other hand throughout the entire conversation. I can not recall the exact conversation, but the Polish president was willing to oversee another election in Kazakhstan if the parliament called for a vote of no confidence in Prime Minister Tarimov. Apparently everyone else knew the Russians would see the Poles as “on their side” but the Chinese would see them as natural enough.

 

I guess it was the last peace to dangle in front of the Chinese and the Russians to get them to sign a ceasefire and get them willing to have some sort of peace-talks. Dallaire is planing on trying to give the Russians access to an Arctic passage - something he doesn’t want to do as it will compromise Canadian Arctic Sovereignty. But I grew up in Canada in the 1970s. I _know_ how scary the prospect of nuclear war between Russia and the US is. The shortest way between Russia and the US? Over Canadian heads. 

 

Matt has been putting together a pretty nice package for the Chinese that involves shared green energy research and plenty of money under the guise of energy research so that neither China nor the US (though, mainly China) will have to depend of foreign oil. It also has the added benefit of helping combat climate change. He told Vinick the final details that morning. “You think congress will go for it?”

 

Vinick frowned. “It’s a lot of money.”

 

“Cheaper than fighting a war.”

 

“You’ll kiss your education reform goodbye.”

 

Matt nodded sadly. “This year, perhaps.”

 

Finally, Vinick said. “Let me talk to China while Jakobson and Poland talks to Russia. Let us see if we’ve put together enough to get them talking. What should we tell them if they just are not going for it.”

 

Matt seemed to sit up straighter. “Tell them I am prepared to pull all American peace-keeping troops out of Israel and Palestine. Tonight. And send them north.”

 

“And if they call your bluff?” Vinick asked.

 

Matt stood up. “Oh, I’m not bluffing.”

 

He was. Or rather, I hope he was.

 

We were headed back to DC a fews hours later. Thankfully, a two-week-long ceasefire had already been agreed upon. On Airforce One, Matt asked Josh, “I heard of an ambassador that helped Bartlet negotiate peace between India and Pakistan using… monetary incentives. Perhaps he can help with the Chinese?”  

 

Josh nodded. “I can send for him. But, sir, we will have to hide the women.”

 

_H.S._

 


	6. Chapter 6

Donna Moss - 03/11/2007 - Entry 6

For the first time in eight years I feel like my home-life is much more hectic than my work-life. Which is an odd thing to write considering I work for the White House.

The night when fighting began in Kazakhstan, Josh and I had been up until one in the morning, unpacking the last few things to make his house our home. The phone call came just before 3 AM and the Secret Service was practically pounding on our bedroom door at the same time. He was informed of what was occurring and he was already changing when he gave the orders to “wake everyone up”. He didn’t even have time to kiss me, or even tell me he was boarding the next Air Force plane for Canada.

But I suppose this is my life now. Our life.

I ended up heading into the White House shortly after Josh left. I ran into Sam, looking extremely frazzled and tired. I asked him if there was anything I could do to help. 

“Tell me why I accepted this job,” was his reply.

“Because you can change the world and make it a better place.”

Sam nodded, then told me to connect his calls until his secretary could make it in. 

The Santoses returned later that day. I was in the East Wing in our suite by that time. I welcomed Mrs. Santos back and asked her, “What do we know now?”

“I honestly don’t know. I was going to ask you the same question.”

I thought back to the many crises we dealt with under President Bartlet. Mrs. Bartlet and her staff tended to lie low unless it had involved her. “Stay out of the way,” I offered. “Continue work as normal.”

Mrs. Santos nodded. “And hope to goodness they don’t need a Polish translator.” She then told me what she had to do and she told me she kept replaying the conversation between her and the Polish president in her head. I was suddenly reminded that Josh’s father’s family is from Poland, though under completely different circumstances. It is strange the difference religion and less than 10 years in history can make to generations that follow. Mrs. Santos was forced to learn Polish as a child so she could communicate with her family still in Poland. Josh had no reason to learn the language. His grandmother had been pregnant with Josh’s dad when she and is grandfather escaped Birkenau. I’m not sure if even Josh’s dad learned Polish. 

Mrs. Santos then said she wanted to take her mind off the stress. 

“We need to start planning the Easter festivities.”

She nodded. “That I can do.”

So, that’s what we have been doing the past few days. Until Josh came in this afternoon during his lunch hour. Mrs. Santos and I were in her office, planning the annual White House Easter Egg Hunt.

“You are not allowed in the West Wing after 3 today,” Josh said, sticking his head into the room before attempting to disappear just as quickly as he appeared.

“Wait! What?” I called. “Who are you even talking to?”

He reappeared again. “You,” he said. He then looked at Mrs. Santos and frowned. “Make that both of you. Your husband will thank me.”

“Okay,” Mrs. Santos said, putting down her pen and cracking her neck. “First off, are you telling Donna as the Chief of Staff, or as her boyfriend, because either way I have a problem. Secondly, I do not take orders from Matt, let alone you! Is this about that British ambassador? Because you boys are not hiding the women.”

“Wait? Lord John Marbury is coming?” I asked, apparently too excited for Josh. Many years ago, I was asked to entertain Lord Marbury for a few minutes as he waited for the president to make him an ambassador. He entertained me with what it was like to be royal and listed all the eligible British noble men for me. I should have listened, even if the most eligible one was five years old at the time. “He is such a fascinating man. I must say hello.”

“Yes,” the First Lady mused. “I think I would like to meet this Lord John Marbury.”

“No!” Josh shouted. “We are so very close to putting together a deal the Chinese are bound to accept and the president wants him to look it over and I don’t want to get him distracted.”

“Fine,” she said. “We will come, be a part of the welcoming committee, then we will return to our end of the house.”

I love the joy Mrs. Santos gets out of annoying Josh.

“You said he was coming at 3, correct? I’ll pencil it into the first lady’s schedule.” Annoying Josh is pretty fun. 

DM

 

Helen Santos - March 11, 2007 - Entry 6

Annoying Joshua Lyman is the only fun I get these days, so when he told us we weren’t allowed to meet Lord John, of course I was going to ignore him.

Just before 3 PM, Donna and I made our way to the entrance hall. Matt, Josh, Secretary Vinick, Sam Seaborn, and their entire (male) entourage entered shortly after. The fact that we were the only female representatives of the United States was simply pathetic - and Matt has the record for the most women in higher-ranking positions. 

Matt walked up to me and kissed me. “I’m not happy with you.”

“Yeah, well Donna and I are not putting up with your ‘boys’ club,” I replied. “Other countries can hire chauvinists, but you aren’t.”

“Yes, dear,” he replied in his placating tone that I hate so much.

I nearly swatted him - and I should have too - when a tall, lean man entered, arm extended, heading towards Matt. “Mr. President! It is such an honour to meet you. Congratulation on your victory.”

I took a small glance at Vinick, though he masked the awkwardness well.

Matt stepped forward to great him. “Lord Marbury. Thank you so much for meeting with us. Your experience in such matters will be most helpful.”

“I shall do whatever is needed. War in Asia is a dreaded fear of most.” Lord John’s face saddened when he turned to Josh, who was now at Matt’s side. “Joshua, my deepest sorrows were felt when I heard of Leo’s passing. He was such a fine sport.”

“Indeed he was,” Josh said. “We have the Roosevelt Room waiting.”

“It is always business with you, Joshua. I shall need to find a way to fix that. I don’t suppose I could pretend to think you are the butler.” Before Josh could reply, Lord John looked at Donna. “Ms. Moss! What is a fine woman like yourself still doing in politics?” He rushed to give her a kiss on each cheek. So much for the “reserved British”. Josh’s look of pure horror was hard to not laugh at. Matt put a hand on Josh’s arm.

“I finally got promoted,” she replied with a smile.

“No thanks to Joshua I presume.”

“None,” Donna said. “I’m now the Chief of Staff for the First Lady.”

“Very well done!” He then turned to me. “And this must be the First Lady from Britain’s commonwealth.” 

I held out my hand for him to shake. “Helen Santos.”

Instead of shaking my hand, he kissed it. I noticed Matt take a large breath through his nose. Lord John didn’t notice. “American Presidents truly have an eye for the breasts.”

At that point, I was trying not to laugh at Josh holding Matt back. 

“Thank you, Lord Marbury. I do believe you have business with my husband.”

“Yes, yes! Off to business we must go!”

When Donna and I got back to the East Wing, both of us were in laughing hysterically. Hopefully the men saw Donna and I don’t need to be ‘hidden’. We can face blatant sexism, because we deal with more subtle forms of it daily. 

H.S.


	7. Chapter 7

_Helen Santos - July 14, 2007 - Entry 7_

 

The past few months have been remarkably busy, yet also so very uneventful (which is a good thing - I am NOT complaining). In the world of politics, Matt’s lobbying reform passed through the house after a fight. However, now, money will not buy power. It never should have to begin with. War has been avoided in Kazakhstan. The Chinese took the deal Matt offered, the Russians returned home and the Polish oversaw new elections in the region. 

 

I’ve been shipped off to Argentina and Pakistan so far on solo state trips. I basically smile and shake hands. I miss my kids and Matt when I’m gone (and I know he misses us when he is gone), but I know everyone is in good hands with Maria (Matt’s sister who we hired as a nanny has been so much help). She has her own apartment here in DC and takes care of everyone, only staying overnight when I’m gone. Matt and I were in Paris, France all last week for his first G8 meeting, so Maria was over in the residence, bugging me before I left. 

 

“You know,” she said, going through all my formalwear, “You will be the first Santoses to ever go to Paris.”

 

I rolled my eyes and I packed my most boring undergarments. I was not having any sort of underwear embarrassment in France. “It is not going to be romantic. I’ve seen our schedules for the week. We don’t have any time alone from 7am to 9pm each day. You could go in my place as First Lady and there would be no changes to the events of the week. You and Matt would do the same about of romantic stuff as we will fit in.”

 

At that point Matt, who was on the other side of the bed, drinking water, spewed the liquid all over whatever he had been reading. 

 

Maria laughed. “See? Matt does have something romantic planned!”

 

Turns out, Matt did, but just like _everything_ else, _nothing_ went as planned, for ‘Matt’s romantic plans’ at least.

 

Matt spent the vast majority of the week in various meetings. I had some meetings (largely glorified photo ops) with other heads of states’ wives and husbands. Nadine Dallaire was there, which was nice. I also made a connection with President Gaudet’s wife - the “First Lady of France”, as well as Prime Minister Grady’s husband, John - who is just the most dapper Englishman. 

 

Donna also came to France, largely because I knew what Josh had planned to do, but I’ll let her get into that. We spent a good part of the week sight-seeing around Paris. It was just fun to get away from the office for awhile and hang out with her, just as friends - though she still insists on calling me Mrs. Santos.

 

The last evening was when Matt’s big romantic gesture was planned. But it was the last afternoon was when everything went wrong. 

 

Before some meeting with several ambassadors, we were eating a quick lunch at the hotel’s restaurant with Donna and Josh. Matt stopped eating his soup suddenly. “Can someone please make sure this is what I ordered?” 

 

“Why? You better not have any stupid allergies,” Josh said as Donna got up and ran to get a member of the waitstaff. 

 

I nodded. “Mushrooms.” Matt’s bizarre allergy to fungus is quite severe, but because it isn’t exactly the most common food, it was never a issue when he was in the marines and it has never come up in his political life. I mentioned it to the White House chefs when we moved in, to the Secret Service, and to his foreign travels team, and they all said it could easily be accommodated. 

 

“And you didn’t think it was important to tell me?” Josh railed.

 

“Well, it isn’t like he has MS!” I snapped back.

 

“That’s going to be the tagline of my presidency,” Matt muttered. At this point, he was loosening his tie and undoing the top button of his shirt. His face, neck, and hands were quickly swelling. 

 

Donna came rushing back. “The chef wanted to add some more flavour for the president so he added truffles.”

 

I rolled my eyes as Matt looked to his Secret Service - all of who were starting to to crowd around. “Who has - .”

 

He was interrupted by Ron Butterfield, the head of the Secret Service for the past 9 years. He dealt with Bartlet and now he was reaching into his pocket for an Epipen, which he stuck into Matt’s thigh through his dress pants. 

 

“Please tell me he doesn’t have to go to the hospital,” Josh groaned.

 

Fortunately for Josh, Matt did not. The Epipen didn’t do much to stop the swelling, but it did delay it long enough to get him back to our suite and a team of medical professionals to him. He didn’t stop breathing - thank the Lord - but he did lose the ability to open his eyes. He had an extremely bad reaction, probably because he had never had truffles. He was… puffy, and the solution was to drug him up. When his speech was relatively understandable again, the doctors said he was fine to rest as long as someone monitored him. I was helping Matt into his pyjamas when there was a knock on the suite door. It was Josh, who had vanished after the doctors gave Matt the okay.

 

“How’s he doing?” Josh asked me.

 

Matt replied, no where close to his normal, articulate self. “I’ll be fine after a nap.”

 

I looked at Josh. “He’s going to sleep for the next 12 hours.” At that moment, I realized my most important job as first lady: to know my husband like no one else. 

 

“I’ve worked with worse before. I cancelled the rest of the meetings for today. It won’t rouse any suspicion, none were particularly important. You’ll be able to do the final meeting and press conference with the other leaders tomorrow morning before we are scheduled to leave, right.”

 

I nodded. “He’ll be fine if he gets his rest this evening.”

 

Matt then sighed and looked up at me. “Guess that means our romantic night is ruined.” 

 

I kissed his blotchy forehead. “Whatever you had planned, Paris is overrated anyways. Donna and I got to see all the stuff worth seeing already. Make it up to me when we actually go somewhere worth some time alone.”

 

Matt turned to Josh. “You should forget your reservations and take Donna on the night I had planned for Helen.”

 

“YES!” I exclaimed, not knowing the details either of them had laid out, but I knew Donna deserved to be treated like a first lady the night she got engaged.

 

The rest of my afternoon and evening actually didn’t end up being too bad. Matt slept for a couple hours and I had a couple hours to myself to read and have a bath with a glass of wine - something that almost never happens. He woke up long enough to have a very simple dinner with me - peanut butter and jam sandwiches and we went to bed remarkably early. I’m not sure if this live is aging us, but it was the best night I have had in awhile. 

 

_H.S._

 

 

_Donna Moss - 07/16/2007 - Entry 7_

 

So I guess I’ll start from the beginning? Well, after the medical emergency that is. Josh told me that the first lady and president were going to spend the rest of the evening in their suite and that they had welcomed us to take their reservations. I know I was so very excited. He told me to dress up, and I did in a little black dress I had packed. When I came out of the bathroom, Josh was looking so dapper in a black dress shirt. He was also acting… odd.

 

“Um, so we are going to have to use a secondary limo. Butterfield wants the main one here incase something happens.”

 

“We can just take a taxi.”

 

“Well, no. Actually. I need to get back here quickly incase -.”

 

“Something happens,” I said, knowing that statement all too well.

 

It was such a simple thing, yet he was acting so bizarre. I knew something was up. He awkwardly took me by the arm. He led me downstairs and into an awaiting limo.

 

Which took us to the Eiffel Tower. We were led by guides to one of the restaurants - the Le Jules Verne - which had been cleared out. We were the only ones seated and the waiter assured us that the chef would make whatever we wanted, then brought out one of the wines.

 

Though-out the entire evening, Josh went from blabbing to being completely silent.

 

Finally, as I put down my dessert spoon (chocolate mousse is so much better in Paris!), I lifted an eyebrow. “Josh, what’s going on?”

 

“Nothing!” he said. “I just didn’t plan for tonight to be so fancy.”

 

“Really?” I asked. I then looked out over Paris. “This has been the most romantic nights of my life.”

 

“You don’t mind that I didn’t plan any of it. I basically just took you for the dinner the president had planned with his wife.”

 

“I’m in Paris with the man I love. The other stuff - the limo, the food, the wine - has just been background. I’m just glad President Santos hates French Opera. We aren’t going to go to some show are we?”

 

Josh shook his head. “The president was going to take his wife on some private tour on one of the museums you guys didn’t have time to see.”

 

I shook my head. “Why am I not surprised.” The first lady, bless her Master’s in Anthropology and Archeology, nearly drove me back to the US with her museum tours.

 

“What we do next is up to you, but I want to go to the Champaign bar at the top of this thing.”

 

I nodded, completely forgetting Josh had been stuck in meetings all week. “Sure! It is so pretty. I bet it is even prettier at night.” 

 

I grabbed my shawl as Josh managed to murmur, “Not as pretty as you.”

 

I gave him a kiss for that.

 

It was at the top of the Eiffel Tower where I found out why Josh was acting so weird. We were looking over the city, glittering with sparking lights, sipping Champaign, when Josh quickly downed his drink and blurted. “Donna. If you got into an accident, I wouldn’t stop for a beer.”

 

“What? Josh?” I then noticed he was sweating. I had never seen him in such a state.

 

“Shut up and listen.” He then looked shocked at his own words. “Sorry. Sam, Bartlet, and Santos said this was going to be hard,” he murmured. “What I wanted to say is, I suck at talking. I don’t know how to be romantic. I know this is quick, but I should have done this years ago. When you were in an accident, I didn’t stop for oceans. So I hope my actions speak louder than my words.” 

 

He then got down on one knee and pulled a ring from his pocket. I gasped as he put it on my finger.=

 

“So?” he asked, even though he actually never asked me any question.

 

I ran my other hand through his hair. I nodded. “Yes.”

 

_DM_


	8. Chapter 8

_Donna Moss - 07/18/2007 - Entry 8_

 

Mrs. Santos wanted all the details of my engagement. I told her everything but she also realized she didn’t know how Josh and I met. So I told her and I figured I should include it in this journal. 

 

I was 24, a college drop out, I had just broken up with my boyfriend and I wanted to do something productive, _meaningful_ with my time, so I volunteered for “Bartlet for America” - President Bartlet - then Governor Bartlet - first presidential campaign. I entered the campaign office and just picked a phone to answer. I wanted to help so much. 

 

I was on _his_ phone when Josh entered his cubical. He didn’t even notice me at first, but when he did, he just had a look of bewilderment on his face. Sadly, it wasn’t a good kind of bewilderment. I introduced myself with a smile. Josh introduced himself with confusion and annoyance. He somehow knew my entire situation: that my dumb ex-boyfriend had made me drop out so I could work and he could go to medschool. Despite my lack of experience, Josh let me continue working with him, even after Bartlet won the presidency. 

 

He believed in me, believed that I could help him. He might be grumpy, but Josh has always believed in me. 

 

I’m not sure when I fell in love with him. Perhaps it was when he let me be his secretary, or when he let me come back a few months later after I had abandoned him for my ex. In the first few years, he did drive me crazy. But when he was shot and it looked like we might lose him, I just remembered thinking I didn’t want my life to be without him. 

 

But I can tell you when he fell in love with me. Perhaps I know him better than I know myself.

 

When I went to Gaza and I was a victim of a roadside bomb. That attack killed a greater person than I will ever be, and ended me up fighting for my life. I woke up in a hospital in Germany. And Josh was there, to care for me. To be with me. He didn’t want to be without me. I was just so thankful he was there. I was scared, but he just told me “don’t be, you’ll be fine”.

 

We did have major professional fallouts after that, but perhaps those were for the best. Because somehow I always knew, we were going to end up together, and not in any sort of professional relationship .

 

We are getting married and I couldn’t be happier.  

 

_D.M._

 

 

_Helen Santos - July 18, 2007 - Entry 8_

 

When I asked Donna how she met Josh, I simply had to smile. I just got the feeling that Josh turned everything around for Donna, and that Donna changed everything for Josh. 

 

Donna then asked how I met Matt. After working and being friends with Donna for over six months, she didn’t accept the half truth of “we met though his sister” we have told the world. I told Donna the full story, but it is not a story I wish to share.

 

But I know my position is a platform.  Hopefully by the time this diary is published, young women and men will not have to deal with such evil. While I pray such horrors will be no longer dealt with my future generations, if it is still happening in the future, I want the victims to know they are not alone and that such events do not define a future.

 

I met Matt the night my stalker attempted to rape me.

 

Without getting too into it - I don’t want this diary to turn into a sob story - this is what happened:

 

After high school, I wanted to return to Canada (I was still an angry teenager longing for home), but my mother and father made me a deal: if I stayed in Huston, they would pay for my undergrad degree. Though my older sister lived in Canada, they didn’t want the family to be split up further. I begrudgingly agreed. However, I made it clear to my peers - the boys - that I wasn’t sticking around the US so, as a good Catholic girl, I wasn’t dating. So it became a bit of a competition on campus with the immature college boys: who could get Helen Chlebek.

 

One _boy_ took it too far. I won’t even give him a dignity if a name. It was the end of the Fall semester of my Junior year and the last day of exams, so the dorms were pretty empty. He had annoyed me relentlessly before, but on that day he hid in my dorm room, which I shared with Matt’s youngest sister Lucia (Lucy), as we had been friends and roommates since freshman year. How this kid figured out both Lucy’s and my schedule, and the fact that I’d return from my exam first, simply creeps me out.

 

When I got back to our room, he tried to take advantage of me, and I resisted. Thank the Lord, Lucy decided not to go to the gym that evening and walked in, sending the kid running. I was fairly upset, beat up, but I didn’t want my parents to see me and I didn’t want to stay on campus in the dorms. So Lucy said I’d be welcome at her parents’ place with her, since she was heading that way for the holidays.

 

I had met Luis and Marita Santos - Lucy’s parents - along with most of her siblings (Elena, Carla, Jorge, and Julia) on a couple of occasions before that night so they were very welcoming. I met Maria that evening. I weirdly didn’t mind Lucy telling them what happened. Perhaps it was the fact that the didn’t really know me, so I really didn’t care what they thought. They told me I could stay there as long as I wanted, despite it being the Christmas season. Marita tended to my injuries and Luis insisted in driving Lucy and me to make a a police report (which nothing came out of, until the stupid kid raped THREE OTHER GIRLS on campus. It was just pathetic that it took so many women to come out against this kid to put him behind bars for 20 years). After a very emotional day, Marita insisted that I sleep alone in her sons’ room since only Jorge was home and he could sleep on the couch. Matt wasn’t expected from the naval base till later the next day.

 

Well. Apparently Matt wanted to surprise his parents by returning late that night and being there when everyone woke up. 

 

I’m told Matt met Donna during the primaries when she was sleeping on the couch of the Vice President’s office on the hill. She had been told to welcome in congress members who weren’t supposed to be in DC for a vote on stem cell research. He had been the first member of congress to arrive. I’m told there was screaming. 

 

That was pretty much Matt’s and my first meeting back in December 1988. He came into his room where I was sleeping - slightly drugged on painkillers - in his and Jorge’s old bed (thankfully it was queen-sized). He tells me he was fairly tired from the drive back to Huston and he thought _I was Jorge_.

 

Under different circumstances, it would have been hilarious. After 18 years, I do admit, it’s pretty funny if you ignore the fact that I was assaulted less than 12 hours earlier.

 

It wouldn’t have been so bad if he had woken me up, or if he had started screaming. But he didn’t even notice - he got into bed with me. And slept with me in the bed.

 

I woke up around 6am, still pretty drugged up, noticed a very large latino man, seven years older, in the bed with me, in his underwear. I screamed bloody murder. He woke up, saw me, screamed. Which woke up the rest of the family who came rushing in.

 

Matt still wants to kill Jorge for what he said: “Well, I see you’ve met Helen.”

 

I was pretty emotional, so Lucy, Elena, and Maria took me to their room to calm down. 

 

Matt came to apologize a little while later, carrying a cinnamon bun and a glass of milk. I was sitting on Lucy’s bed, heaving, recovering from a full scale panic attack - the first of many, though I didn’t know that was what it had been.

 

“Can I come in?” Matt asked after knocking on the door. “I’m wearings pants.”

 

I smiled at this so he was allowed to come in. 

 

“I am so very sorry.” He then explained himself as he handed me the plate and glass. He then noticed my black eye developing from the night before and the bruises on my arms. “Did I hurt you, Helen?”

 

I shook my head, suddenly embarrassed to be seen in such a state by this handsome man.

 

“Some bastard in our dorm,” was all the explanation Lucy gave. “You should see what Helen did to him.”

 

He then had this look of understanding. He didn’t need any further explanations. He simply cared that I was hurt. “Oh. Can I pray with you?” he asked. And then I just knew. He was the man who I was going to spend the rest of my life with. He sat on the other end of the bed, gently joined hands with me and Maria. Lucy held my other hand and I just knew I was to spend the rest of my life with him.

 

I told him later that day the full details when we more formally introduced each other. After I did he asked me if he could hug me. He barely knew me, yet his love was so strong. I spent a lot of time with the Santos family that Christmas.

 

After Matt went back to his base, we started to exchange letters. At first he just wanted to make sure I was okay, but then we realized we had so much in common: our love for God, anything nerdy and our wish to do good in the world. We began dating the summer of 1989, were engaged when he returned from the Gulf war in early spring 1991 and were married December 17, 1991. I’ve never looked back.

 

_H.S._


	9. Chapter 9

_Helen Santos - January 7, 2008 - Entry 9_

 

My husband is a jackass. 

 

I turned 40 today. I’m drunk and my husband is a jackass.

 

Matthew Vincente Santos is a JACKASS.

 

_H.S_

 

 

_Donna Moss - 01/08/2008 - Entry 9_

 

I’d better explain the first lady’s entry from last night. I’ll try to recount all the details, but my memory is a bit fuzzy thanks to the wine. And the whisky.

 

I think the events of yesterday have been brewing for awhile. The first lady spent the majority of the autumn on diplomatic trips. I barely saw her, and I’m sure the president saw her even less. She complained to me about seeing her kids so little and having so little communication with her husband. Thankfully the first family was together for the Christmas season, but I think that may have been part of the issue.

 

The first lady was under the impression that the family was going to spend the holidays in Huston in their home for a short time. The president told her the Secret Service didn’t like the idea, since securing the Huston home had fallen off the priority list. 

 

What he didn’t tell her was that while she was somewhere in India, China, or Australia in September, he had sold their house. He had sold it on the advice of several people (Josh, the Public Relations team, the Secret Service) who all thought the president owning a vacant home in the middle of Huston, in the middle of a housing crisis, was just a media and a possible security disaster waiting to happen.

 

She didn’t find out the truth till yesterday. Till her birthday.

 

She walked into my office early in the afternoon. I greeted her with a “Happy birthday.”

 

“Thanks,” she said. “Though you will re-think that phrase when you turn forty,” she groaned. “Anyways. Who would I contact about getting some stuff from the Huston house? My dad called me this morning and asked me if I had any of my grandmother’s cookbooks here because he was going to send me some if I didn’t. I told him I did. I lied and he’s going to find out.”

 

I paused. I had known the house had been sold. But I had thought the president had told her. Nope. “I think everything from the Huston house was put into storage,” I said delicately. “If you know what you want, I can have someone retrieve it.”

 

She looked at me, confused. “Why would everything be in storage?”

 

I had no idea what to say. “I think you need to speak to the president.”

 

“What did my husband do?” she gritted out. 

 

“Something stupid,” I whispered. I know it wasn’t my place, but she deserved to know what the president had done. “I thought he told you. He sold the Huston house back in September.”

 

“WHAT?” she screamed. “MATT SOLD OUR HOUSE?” She then let out a breath as she walked around the room. “Thank you,” she said, trying to appear calm. “You are my friend, Donna, one of the few friends I currently have. You should go distract your fiancé. I’m going to need a few minutes alone with my husband.”

 

I followed her to the West Wing where Josh and the president were in the respective offices. 

 

I slipped into Josh’s office - he was reading something - and said, “There’s about to be a domestic dispute. We should -.” I was then interrupted by alarms. I knew what it meant immediately: the White House was on lockdown. REAAAALLLY BAD timing. Cosmic karma rained on the president. 

 

It took only a few minutes for the Secret Service to determine it was a faulty sensor, but Josh and I were privy a very private argument. It was very awkward (I asked Mrs. Santos if she was okay with me writing it as part of this entry and her reply was, “The world needs to know presidents are human. They are flawed… and jackasses.”).

 

After the alarms died down - yet we were still on lockdown - I heard Mrs. Santos say, “Well, now that we are locked in here, I’d say this is the right time for this conversation.” 

 

“Helen,” the president said. “It’s your birthday.”

 

“DON’T YOU THINK I KNOW THAT, MATTHEW?” I had never heard her call her husband by his full first name.

 

“Well let’s not do this today.”

 

“We are doing this today, you jackass, because you sold our HOME WITHOUT TELLING ME! THEN YOU LIED ABOUT IT FOR MONTHS!”

 

Josh looked at me at me, cringing. “Should we tell them we can hear them?”

 

I shook my head. “I don’t think the first lady cares.”

 

“You were busy, practically unreachable on the trip to India. _You_ were the one that decided to go into the rural areas - to that archaeological site with no phone-lines. It honestly slipped my mind, because I’m _sorry_ I was dealing with Iran that month. When I realized, I _didn’t_ want you mad over the holidays. I didn’t want the kids to have an unpleasant Christmas, _Helena_.” Yup, he used her full first name. 

 

Josh covered his mouth in shock. 

 

“Don’t you dare bring up the children, Matthew. Do they know you got rid of our family home?”

 

“Peter and Miranda are intelligent children. I’m pretty sure they know we will be staying here for awhile.”

 

“And what if we won’t be? You’re not invincible”

 

“I know that! And if I don’t win reelection we will have over two months to find a place to live.”

 

“And what if _there is no we_?” Her voice reached a tone of vulnerability. “ _You are not invincible_ , Matt. What if _I’m_ the one looking for a place to call home to raise our children… because we are being kicked out of here… because you’re dead.” Helen didn’t mince or sugarcoat her words.

 

There was a long silence.

 

“Sweetheart… Len,” he said, his tone so soft. 

 

“Don’t ‘Len’ me.”

 

There was another long silence. Then Josh’s door opened and Margret stuck her head in. “Lockdown has been lifted. Faulty alarm.” We all then wince again as a nearby door opened and shut.

 

I didn’t see the first lady until that evening.

 

I didn’t hear any word to cancelation of Mrs. Santos’ birthday party, so Annabeth and I had gotten ready and put on our dressed. Right before the event was supposed to begin, the first lady came back to our office suite, wearing a slinky black dress and her hair up in a tight bun. She looked great, but she still looked annoyed.

 

“Sorry for being gone all day. Do you guys mind joining me to my birthday party?”

 

“You’re going?” Annabeth asked. I had filled her in.

 

“Oh, I’m still mad at the _jackass_ , and I don’t want go. But I’m not going to be petty and not go to my own birthday party. That will just give Matt an inch of highroad and I don’t want to give him that. I just need some support so I don’t punch him.”

 

“Well,” I said, thinking of a birthday party when Abigail Bartlet was pissed at her husband. “We could make an appearance, steal some food, some wine, then slip away. There is a precedence for this sort of thing.”

 

Mrs. Santos raised her eyebrow. “Is there? Well then, let’s go.”

 

We were at the party for a few minutes. It was frankly not a party I would have thrown for the first lady. Most of the guests either worked for the White House, or the government. The most fun we had was avoiding the president, which was easy given his typical entourage. We had instructed ushers to bring up certain plates of food up to the residence and we were in the process of grabbing two bottles of wine when we noticed Ainsley Seaborn actively trying to get away from Sam.

 

“Samuel,” she was saying, “I don’t want to do this _here_.”

 

The first lady walked by her. “Husband being a jackass?”

 

“My husband decided to run for congress without telling me he had finally made a decision.” She cast a cold glance back at Sam. “So, yeah, a jackass.”

 

“Ainsley, come get drunk with us. It’s my birthday.”

 

And that is how Mrs. Santos, Annabeth, Ainsley and I all ended up in the Residence, with two bottles of wine, puff pastries, and cheese-cake.

 

Ainsley told us about how Sam was thinking about running for congress in California in his childhood district since the seat had opened up. They had been discussing the idea, but Sam had gone and confirmed with the party leadership. 

 

“What a jackass,” Annabeth commented, taking another drink from her wine glass.

 

“At least you guys were actually discussing the idea,” the first lady retorted. “Sam is going to run for president one day. When he does, put your house in your own name, so the jackass can’t sell it and leave you homeless.”

 

“You’re not exactly homeless, ma’am,” I reminded her.

 

“Donna, we are _not_ being professional here. Call me Helen.” She took another drink. “Also, shut up, Mrs. Engaged-in-Paris. What if this place goes up in flames?”

 

“I think that is highly unlikely,” I replied.

 

“Don’t you know anything about Canadian history? It’s _your_ home country’s history, too” she sneered. “War of 1812, Donna. British victory, by the way, your American propaganda is _wrong_. Anyways. 1814. We burned the White House. We occupied Washington and watched it _burn_. Man, I’d like to see this place _burn_ … if it wouldn’t leave me homeless.”

 

“And now the Secret Service is putting you on all sorts of watch-lists,” Ainsley commented.

 

“Yeah? I’m sure I’m joining Abbey Bartlet on them and _you_ ' _re_ going to be on them one day. I swear spouses of politicians are idiots.”

 

Ainsley nodded. “Yup. I say we stand up to our husbands. When they come begging for our forgiveness -”

 

“And they will, because they were jackasses.”

 

“We stand up to them. They need us more than we need them.”

 

“But they both had good points, you know,” I spoke up.

 

“Oh do tell,” Mrs. Santos urged. 

 

“Well, yeah, they both should have told you guys what was going on, but Ainsley, you and Sam have been talking about him running for congress again in the 2008 mid-terms since before you got married. He thought you were on board. And Mrs. Santos, yes the president should have told you he was selling the house, but you were in the middle of no where. He made an mistake in not telling you as soon as he realized, but he quite literally had to sign one document when it came to the whole process.”

 

“You make a point,” the first lady murmured. “I think I might have to go find the whisky.”

 

The rest of the night was a bit of a blur. There was a lot of discussion about my upcoming wedding. However, I do remember Josh coming into the residence. 

 

“Now,” Josh said. “I’m going to fix two relationships.”

 

Us ladies laughed. “This should be good,” both Annabeth and I murmured. 

 

“Ainsley, Sam is sorry,” Josh announced. “Your grievance is legitimate. He was a jackass. If you forgive him, you never have to set foot in California. If he wins, you he will spit his time between DC and California and you won’t have to quit your job here.”

 

I nudged Ainsley in the ribs. “Demand Fresca and cupcakes.”

 

“Yeah, tell _Samson_ I want Fresca and cupcakes whenever I want,” she said, calling Sam by the wrong name. 

 

“I’m sure that can be arranged. And you, ma’am,” Josh said, looking at Mrs. Santos. “If selling your house and not telling you is the worst thing your husband does during his time here, be thankful.”

 

“You are _really_ bad at putting me at ease Josh,” she said, crossing her arms. “ _Mario_ sent the _wrong_ person to plea for him.”

 

“He’s sorry. He’s willing to look at houses whenever you want but wanted to put your fears at ease. He looked up the procedure if he were to not make it to the end of his term: you and the children would be looked after. He talked to the vice president - who I think had some choice words for the president’s mistake - and the vice president said you and the children would be welcome to say here or in one of the presidential guest houses. Ma’am, if you don’t mind me saying this, he might have been a moron in his actions, but you and your children are always in his heart.” 

 

“Ack, how can I demand more than that?” she asked with no reply.

 

Josh then said. “I will go negotiate with your husbands. They are being rather pathetic and annoying and have turned the first lady’s birthday into a pity party.”

 

“Ohhh,” Mrs. Santos mocked her pity. “Ainsley, lets go annoy Samson and Mario. We will make our own negotiations.”

 

Annabeth followed them and I stayed behind with Josh.

 

I leaned back and put my hand behind my head. “Of all the people to repair two marriages, I would never have guessed it to be you.”

 

“I’m a man of many talents, Donna.”

 

I gave him a look of doubt. “Yeah, but fixing marriages isn’t one.”

 

“It is when the husbands are being jackasses.”

 

The use of the word _jackasses_ gave him away. “You called the Bartlets for help, didn’t you?”

 

“I asked my self ‘What would Leo do?’”

 

“And Leo would have annoyed the former president and first lady?”

 

“Oh they were happy to help.”

 

I had to smile at that. Of course they would.

 

“They accepted our invitation to our wedding, by the way.” 

 

I groaned. That just upped the Secret Service numbers. 

 

_D.M._


	10. Chapter 10

_Donna Lyman - 05/30/2008 - Entry 10_

 

I am writing this on an airplane on my way to Hawaii. Full disclosure: Josh is asleep at my side. Snoring.

 

It has been an insane past few weeks. Josh deserves a nap. I think I do as well.

 

Josh has spent the past few months helping the president through one of the worst economic downturns America has seen since the Great Depression. I won’t bore the audience with details easily looked up, but the housing market crashed due to subprime mortgages and risks made by executives. Josh - and the president - bailed out banks and large companies and have appointed prosecutors to convict those responsible. But the economy is showing signs of recovery.

 

In the East Wing we have continued our official duties - charity events and the first lady spent two weeks in Africa advocating for international contributions for childhood vaccinations. But I have also spent the past few months planning my wedding (with the help of Annabeth and the first lady - much more interesting than economic relief). 

 

Josh, frankly, left it up to me. He didn’t even care about the religious aspects. However, I decided for fairness on a civil ceremony on a Friday afternoon, as not to conflict with the Sabbath - mostly for Josh’s mom. I decided we would rent a party boat for the reception, since we were having a small wedding. 

 

Josh and I were married on Friday afternoon. I got ready in the East Wing. Mrs. Santos was gracious and let my mother, father, and cousins (two of which were my bridesmaids, Ainsley was my Maid of Honour - since we have spent nearly every weekend of the past year and a half together) invade her space. I wore a simple white dress with a square neckline and no sleeves. My bridesmaids were in red.

 

Apparently my brothers - Dario and Dante - and Josh’s mom invaded the West Wing. Margret wasn’t happy. Thankfully it was a quiet Friday.

 

We all loaded up in limos and headed to the National Harbour. We were married on a large, wide pier before the sun set. Out 50 guests watched on as my father walked me down the aisle to Josh. He was grinning like an idiot, but I think I was too. We kept the ceremony short, then we boarded the party boat and went out into the ocean.

 

It was a fairly tame reception. The food was amazing. Josh and I danced and we danced with our parents. Sam gave a toast. Our guests danced and drank a bit, but it was largely just a great hang out and relaxing environment. Our guest list included several faces from the Bartlet administration: CJ (who is pregnant! AHHH!) and Danny Concannon, Charlie Young and the three Bartlet sisters (Zoey, Ellie, and Elizabeth), Ginger, Bonnie, Margret, and Toby.

 

I think our “rowdy table” was actually the table where we sat Abbey Bartlet, President Bartlet, Helen Santos, and President Santos. When Josh and I walked by there, they all were laughing and yelling at each other. They all gave us hugs and congratulations. 

 

The boat docked, but guests were welcome to stay. Josh and I escaped pretty early to a hotel room, where we spent most of yesterday in bed. 

 

It is Sunday now and I have a week of Josh to myself. 

 

I told him we were allowed no communication with DC during this week, so we didn’t bring any form of communication. What’s the worst that could happen?

 

_D. L._

 

 

 

_Helen Santos - June 5, 2008 - Entry 10_

 

So, I might have killed the Pope.

 

Donna is still on her honeymoon (which she deserves - I had a blast at her wedding: Abbey and I had so much fun just talking about things that only we have experienced, like finding top secret files on our living room coffee table and the DAMN CREEPY painting outside the office I use - while Matt and President Bartlet just talked about airplanes).

 

Anyways, Pope Alexander IX randomly decided to attack me a few days ago (I did NOTHING), specifically my support for Planned Parenthood (which does so much more than abortions and provide birth control) as well as my advocation for access to and education about birth control (which does a lot more than prevent a woman from getting pregnant). Reaction to his sermon got really big so Annabeth (and Sam Seaborn) decided a reply was needed to cement our beliefs in the left.

 

My statement about the matter was much more eloquently written (because Annabeth wrote it), but I basically stated that there’s this thing called the separation of church and state and it’s a great thing. My decisions on birth control are private. I, nor Matt, do not force any decision on other women, because of the separation of church and state. I also stated that the scriptures say NOTHING about modern birth-control methods (I’m a really disobedient Catholic when it comes to these things - I like to argue. Heck I just got into an argument with a pope that might have killed him). I believe that life begins at conception, so one way to prevent abortions is to allow access to birth control. But I also stated that abortions are sometimes needed to save the life of a mother. I added that moral decisions on unborn children should not override freedom women should have over their own bodies. I said that I pray that all women make the right choices for themselves but concluded that freedom is not just for the men of America.  

 

I also kinda went off on the fact that dead people have more autonomy over their bodies than women. In many places, doctors need direct permission from a last will or from the family to harvest organs TO SAVE OTHER LIVES. So it makes no sense that a woman can’t have an abortion to save a life, yet perfectly useable organs rot and people die because dead people have more control over their organs than women.

 

My statement on these matters went viral (rotting organs makes for a great news clip I guess). I’m really unpopular with the right wing (I’m being labeled as a baby-killer) but the left loves me. I hate the attention this is getting.

 

The pope didn’t respond (publicly) because he died a few hours after I made the statement. 

 

I was getting ready for bed when Matt appeared, shirtless, in the bathroom. “So,” he said, “I just got breaking news. Pope Alexander is dead.”

 

“What?” I gasped. “Seriously?”

 

He nodded. “You killed him, Helen,” he said, laughing. He was LAUGHING! And I’m the horrible Catholic? “You killed the pope!”

 

“Oh my Lord,” I groaned. “I feel horrible.” I really do.

 

“Calm down, my God, the guy was like seven billion years old. No one is going to think you actually caused him to die.” Pope Alexander was actually 88 and had like 3 heart attacks. He hasn’t exactly been the most popular pope, but I hope Matt is right. “But you are going to hell probably.”

 

“Yeah, but at least I’ll be with my politician husband.”

 

This morning, my name was, thankfully, never mentioned in the news coverage of his death. 

 

I did however, get a phone-call from Abbey Bartlet, who said (laughing), “How dare you kill the pope! Not even I did anything so scandalous.” 

 

“Oh and covering up your husband’s MS doesn’t count,” I snapped back.

 

“Hey, nobody died.” She then brought up the funeral. “You have to go, you know.”

 

“Yes, I know, and you are coming with me.”

 

The funeral is a week from now and Matt and I will be attending alongside the Bartlets.

 

_H.S._

 


	11. Chapter 11

**_Editor’s Note:_ **

 

_Here, as the entries go from mid-2008 to mid-2009, I feel it is important to remind readers that due to length constraints, I’ve had to make decisions as to what entries to place into this edition. Since the publishers wished for an more intimate look at occupants and employees of The White House, I have chosen more personal diary entries of Helen Santos and Donna Lyman._

 

_P.S._

 

 

_Donna Lyman - 03/28/2009 - Entry 11_

 

Today was a very exciting day for me. I feel like working in the White House, whenever there’s unexpected news, it is never good. But today, we got some good news.

 

I came into work to see the first lady pacing my office - an odd sight since normally she doesn’t normally arrive until about 30 minutes after me.

 

She stopped as soon as I entered. “Oh thank the Lord one of you is here. I need a personal favour.”

 

I put my purse down on my office chair. “Anything.” This wasn’t an odd request. She often asks me to get her personal items - things she doesn’t want other aides to get her (typically it is lingerie - it stopped being awkward long ago).

 

“I need you to run to the nearest pharmacy. Time is a factor.”

 

I picked my purse back up. “Yes, of course. Are you okay?”

 

“I need a pregnancy test.”

 

I gasped. “Are we happy?”

 

She let out a shaking breath. “I will tell you once I confirm it. Just don’t let anyone see what you have. The president gets back from China this afternoon and he has no idea. I just need to make sure I am vomiting for a good reason. Please hurry, Donna, I have to pee!” 

 

I nodded, then rushed back out and went to the nearest pharmacy and rushed back. 

 

But who should I run into as soon as I entered the White House? Josh. 

 

My stupid husband.

 

He looked at his cellphone. “My god. Is this how late you normally get to work?”

 

I rolled my eyes. “No. I had to run an emergency errand.” I tried to pass him, but he wouldn’t let me.

 

“What’s in the CVS bag?”

 

I tried to divert him. “God, you are more annoying now that Sam is a congressman. Don’t you have a country to run? Or at least a new deputy to terrorize?”

 

Josh shrugged. “Veronica is in China with the President, remember? I’ve got nothing much to do until the President gets back.”

 

“Somehow, I doubt that.” I stuck the bag with the pregnancy test in my purse for good measure. 

 

He started to follow me. “What’s in the bag? Now I’m concerned.”

 

“You don’t have clearance.”

 

He laughed. “I have higher clearance than the president in some matters.”

 

“Yeah, but you don’t have the clearance I have with the first lady.”

 

He paused for a moment. “Oh. Ohhhh! I don’t want to know.” He then walked away and I hurried to the East Wing. As soon entered the suite, I heard vomiting. I rushed into the bathroom to see the first lady unceremoniously kneeling over the toilet. Annabeth was holding her hair and rubbing her back.

 

Mrs. Santos rested her head on her arm. “Give me the test. I need to know who I should kill: my husband or the chef.”

 

I did and Annabeth and I waited outside the closed door. A few minutes later the door opened. The first lady was leaning against the counter. The test was behind her.

 

“I think’ll vomit again if I look at it.”

 

“Do you want me to tell you?” I asked.

 

She closed her eyes and nodded.

 

I picked up the test. It had a clear pink plus sign. I couldn’t help but smile and show it to Annabeth. “Can I offer congratulations?” I asked.

 

She let out a breath, but a smile tugged at her lips. “I have no idea how we are going to do this. And if you think I’m bitchy now, wait a few months. But thank you. For everything.”

 

I understand why the first lady is daunted. But she’s an amazing mother and I, for one, am excited to have a new addition to the East Wing. Plus it will be a great way to get Josh used to being around a baby.

 

_DL_

 

 

_Helen Santos - March 29, 2009 - Entry 11_

 

I am five weeks pregnant and it has already become the biggest headache of my life. I had Peter when Matt was simply a councilman running for Mayor of Huston. I handled that quite well. I had Miranda during Matt’s first year in congress, which was a bit of a challenge, but nothing compared to what I am in for. 

 

Only two other women have ever had babies while first lady: Francis Cleveland and Jackie Kennedy. Sadly, the Kennedy child died, so I really don’t have much to go off of. I have no idea what to expect. And I was finally starting to feel like I could do this job and have a semi-normal family life. 

 

Getting a pregnancy test involved me asking Donna to get it for me. Telling my husband was even harder.

 

At first, I considered telling him as soon as he got back to the White House, but soon realized he would have about 100 million things to catch up on. But then - of course - the President of the Philippines was actually flying in with Matt, which meant a state dinner. 

 

I actually didn’t see him until he came until he came up to the Residence to get ready. I was actually in our closet, getting dressed.

 

“Matt?” I called. 

 

He had a grin as soon as he entered. “They didn’t tell me there was half-naked pretty woman waiting for me.” We kissed and hugged. He immediately started to change. “Our welcome home is going to have to wait. Josh sent me up here to quickly change - I have a quick briefing, then I’ll meet you on the staircase the whole ceremonial entrances.” 

 

I nodded and knew my news had to wait. I didn’t want Matt distracted for a briefing, or a state dinner. I then realized I was excited. I was going to be a mommy again and Matt was going to be a father to another child.

 

I know we haven’t been there every moment of every day for Miranda or for Peter, but they know that they are loved and we won’t be in our public positions forever: another 2, or 6 years. 

 

Besides, this kid inside me now likely won’t remember much of our blunders at parenting here at the White House. 

 

I tied his bowtie and Matt left the Residence unaware. I started to plot out how I was going to tell him. Perhaps a note in his file to read for tonight? Getting Josh to come back for a special briefing?

 

Unfortunately my plotting was cut short by vomiting. The morning sickness with this kid has just hit me so suddenly and so hard. I managed to put myself together just in time to meet Matt on the staircase. 

 

“Have I had time to tell you how much I have missed you?” he asked.

 

I put my hands on my hips. “Hon, you haven’t even told me how much you love me.”

 

“Sorry sweetheart. I’m saving that for tonight.” He tried to kiss my neck but I swatted him. We were joined by President Torres before I could get really mad at Matt. 

 

The majority of dinner went on without a problem. But then my glass of water was taken, replaced by a glass of champaign - probably because I usually demand alcohol to get through stupid state dinners. The toasts began and became my downfall. 

 

Toasts are always my downfall.

 

I figured I could just pretend to drink the champaign, but just the smell turned my stomach. I didn’t care about appearances - my stomach was not putting up with appearances.  I dashed for the nearest bathroom. THANKFULLY I made it and ungracefully emptied my salmon filet into a toilet. It was not a pretty sight. 

 

I was still leaning over the porcelain bowl, head resting on my arm, when there was a knock on the door. Figuring it was my head Secret Service agent - the only one that follows me around in the White House, I simply shouted, “I’m fine, Collin. I’ll be out in a moment.” (Weird how that has grown to be such a normal assumption for me, that Collin would be the first one at my side).

 

But then the door handle jiggled. I hadn’t locked it. “Helen?” It was Matt. He opened the door and stuck his head in. “What’s wrong.”

 

“I’ll tell you after. I don’t want you distracted.” I wiped my mouth and started to get up. Matt immediately rushed into help me.

 

“Now you are scaring me,” he said, flushing the toilet. 

 

I took a swig of water from the sink. 

 

He closed the lid and sat on the toilet. “I just want to know what is wrong. I’m going to be distracted either way now.”

 

I looked at him. “I was hoping for a more joyous location than a bathroom, but Mr. President, you are going to be a daddy… again.”

 

It only took a moment for his face to go from confusion to joy. His face lit up, exactly like the last times I’ve told him. His eyes moved from my face to my stomach. 

 

“We can do mushy later,” I told him. “Right now, let’s see if we can finish this dinner without you blabbing or me barfing.”

 

So, to my future child reading this right now. Yes, your father was told of your existence in a bathroom at a state-dinner. In retrospect, it could have been worse. Just a few minutes later, he was rushed off to the situation room due to North Korea setting off test missiles. 

 

_HS_


	12. Chapter 12

_Donna Lyman - 06/26/2009 - Entry 12_

 

Today I had the honour or witnessing the marriage of Zoey Bartlet and Charlie Young. 

 

It was simply one of the most happiest events I’ve had the pleasure of witnessing, and I have witnessed two men become leader of the free world. The wedding was at the Bartlet farm in New Hampshire. It was simple, yet beautiful. 

 

Zoey’s two sisters, along with Charlie’s sister, were the bridesmaids. Josh, Sam, and Anthony - the man Charlie mentored as a “Big Brother” - were the groomsmen. Both Josh and Sam were so thrilled to be asked to be groomsmen - it really showed the connections Charlie made with them. Josh said Charlie asked him because he had no other friends. Josh got hit for that comment.

 

CJ was there - of course - with Danny. I was sad that they had left their daughter home. Toby was there too. Like at my wedding, it really felt like a reunion of sorts. Though it was clear that some of us represented the past, some represented the present, and some represented the future. Charlie and Zoey give me so much hope that our legacy - the legacy made under Bartlet, and the legacy we are making with Santos, will continue long into the future.

 

It was, of course, great to see Dr. Bartlet again and the former president. They beamed with joy and love, but I could tell that their time in the While House had taken it’s toll on them, particularly the former president’s health. 

 

He and Dr. Bartlet had the honour of walking Charlie down the aisle, but he leaned on the younger man, heavily. They then slowly walked back up the aisle and got Zoey from a grove of trees. 

 

Still, he held his head up high.

 

_DL_

 

 

_Helen Santos - June 26, 2009 - Entry 12_

 

I too had the joy of witnessing the Bartlet-Young wedding. Matt and I were largely there as a formality. We kept near the back, and we simply enjoyed the event as a normal couple. It was kinda nice not being in centre stage for once. 

 

 I was fortunate to do a few events with Zoey back on the campaign. She is such a fierce and bold young lady. It was clear she was so happy.

 

I couldn’t help but wonder about my children. Would Miranda, Peter, and my unborn child (I’m now 4 months along and beginning to show - we just announced it to the public to, not surprisingly, mixed reactions) turn out as well as the Bartlet sisters have? 

 

Will I have to - 20 years from now - make small chat at Miranda’s wedding with the current president. I then realized, this isn’t over in 4, or 8 years. We may fade, but we will alway be known. 

 

And that scares me.

 

Life changed three years ago, and there is no going back. Not for me at least. I know it won’t be exactly the same for my kids. Still, I feel terrible for putting them though such an abnormal childhood.

 

But, I look at Matt and all the good he has done, and know it is worth it. Hopefully my children’s sacrifices will be insignificant compared to mine. Zoey and her sisters seemed to have turned out alright.

 

_HS_


	13. Chapter 13

_Donna Lyman - 08/24/2009 - Entry 13_

 

Congress is currently out of session for the summer recess, which means life is a bit more slow-paced these days. The first family is spending some quiet time at Camp David, which afforded me some time to go back home to Madison, Wisconsin for two weeks to help prepare for, my brother’s - Dante’s - wedding. 

 

I swear Josh was the only member of the government working, but he did manage to find time to join me for the actual wedding. 

 

It was simply nice to spend some time with my parents and get to know Dante’s love - Emily. It was also just kinda nice to be the brainless help to such an event, instead of organizing some function for the White House. It has actually been my first extended amount of time home in about 10 years - since I started working in the White House.

 

It was kinda odd being back in the old neighbourhood, but also nice. I grew up the girl no one really thought was going to go anywhere. My grades were decent, but never outstanding. I didn’t have any notable talents. But I was never in trouble. I was just plain, boring Donna. Mrs. Morrello was the only person to really see my potential. 

 

I returned Chief of Staff to the First Lady, married to possibly the second most powerful man in the country. 

 

I made something of myself. 

 

Of course that didn’t stop my mother from complaining about how much I work, or my dad complaining about how little he knows Josh. 

 

Dario was actually the one to come to my defence. Dario works as a conservation officer, and understands what the Santos administration is trying to do for the protection of the environment. One evening, as we were making centrepieces for the reception, my dad was going on about how he had wanted to take Josh fishing with my brothers for Dante’s “last days” as a single man. It was honestly getting on my nerves, when Dario spoke up, “I’m pretty sure Josh has better things to do than catch fish - like try to save them.”

 

When Josh finally did make it - the day before the wedding - my dad kept his mouth shut… at least until after the wedding.  

 

The wedding itself was beautiful. It went off without any issue. 

 

However, the day after the wedding was when things got heated. 

 

Now, I understand my father’s desire to get to know Josh better - with the exception of four days last Christmas, my family really doesn’t know Josh. Apparently Dante and Emily are around every weekend for dinner. I’m not blind to the differences. 

 

So it was understandable that, as we were cleaning up the hall the morning after the reception, my dad was trying to have a conversation with Josh - except that Josh’s Blackberry kept going off, which meant he had to step out with his secret service agent. 

 

Of course, Josh isn’t allowed to talk about what was pulling him away. I’m used to it, but I could see it was annoying my dad. 

 

Finally, things exploded at dinner. It was going to be our only dinner as a family: my parents, Dante and Emily (who were leaving the next morning for their honeymoon), Dario, Josh (who was also leaving in the morning) and I. 

 

See, my dad hates it whenever people answer their phone during family meals. A Blackberry started to ring and my dad, normally a very collected man, threw down his fork. “Josh, I’ve had it with that phone. You are obviously dealing with something that needs your full attention.”

 

I awkwardly got up. “Sorry it’s mine.” I hurried outside to the back patio to answer it. 

 

When I was finished, Josh was waiting at the door. “Anything serious?”

 

I rubbed my temple. “That was Bram calling because the President asked him to. The First Lady has been having really bad Braxton Hicks contractions throughout today. She’s claiming it is from stress from the idea of having to go back to the White House soon and the upcoming trip to the UK, so she’s refusing to let a doctor come see her. The President just wanted me to know, incase something does happen, I can get Annabeth to make an informed statement.”

 

Josh rubbed my back. I wasn’t stressed, I was simply worried about my friend and her unborn child. “Sorry about my dad,” I then said. 

 

Josh shrugged. “They’ve never really been exposed to our world. I know my job isn’t exactly conducive to a healthy marriage, or a healthy relationship with the in-laws.”

 

I gave him a look. “I knew what I was getting into when we got married. Besides, I think we are doing pretty well for a power-couple.”

 

“You only have the Bartlets and the Santoses for comparison.”

 

“Yes, and I think we have them both beat.” I kissed him. “Because I knew what I was getting myself into.”

 

We made our way back in for supper. I know my parents and my brothers do not completely understand my life with Josh - I know it might seem like he has priorities over our relationship, but I know he’d drop everything and cross an ocean for me. But I’d never ask him to, because he helps so many people in this world. I just hope my family gets that I love this man. 

 

_D. L._

 

 

_Helen Santos - August 30, 2009 - Entry 13_

 

So I guess I should explain the call Donna got a bit further. I’m currently a full 6 months and this pregnancy is the bane of my existence, and I say that as a woman who has had to throw dinner parties for politicians. First, the morning sickness was horrible. Thankfully that has subsided, but now this child has grown to a massive size. I swear, compared to Peter and Miranda - both of who were on the heavier side of average - this child is going to be massive. While the world bets on what gender this kid will be (I’m not kidding, states have pools running - all of the west thinks it will be a girl, while Texas and the south thinks it will be a boy), Matt and I are just wondering how much this kid will weigh. My doctors are already leaning towards a scheduled cesarean (which Matt, Josh, and the rest of the West Wing like the idea of - sad how even my bodily functions are now regulated). Though I don’t want to go through the recovery time of an operation if I don’t have to.

 

However, despite my personal discomfort and minor annoyances, the baby and I are healthy. There have been no real scares, with the exception of that evening (and, really, it was only Matt freaking out). 

 

Matt, the kids, and I spent Matt’s “vacation” at Camp David. Yes, we knew we could go almost anywhere, but going to Camp David is simply so easy - it means less time planning and more time relaxing. Besides, we all really enjoy the place. The kids can go swimming, canoeing, practice archery and a bunch of other things, all with their father - without worrying about the Secret Service. I have a sewing room set up where I was making a quilt and some receiving blankets for the baby. Plus both Matt’s and my families can visit without a huge hassle. Of course we all sat down as a family to watch movies, and Matt and I got plenty of time to simply sit and read in the sunshine. It is times like these that makes me able to handle the rest of this life. Which included that day that Donna got that phone-call. 

 

It started in the morning with Matt’s daily intelligence briefing, only this time, when Matt got out of it, he came and pulled me away from making breakfast with Peter and sat with me on the back porch. At first, I sighed. “You have to go back to Washington, don’t you? I’m not mad. I’m honestly surprised we had almost our entire vacation together.”

 

“No, I don’t have to go back yet, though I might be pulled away for a few more briefings today - there’s a trade deal going on in South America with Brazil - but something came up that you should be aware of. Trevor Sevoya is out on parol.”

 

Though I hadn’t heard - or said - that name in years, the news came as no real surprise to me. Sevoya was the scum that tried to sexually assault me, and succeeded in terrorizing other women, nearly 20 years ago. I knew his sentence was nearly over. My heart tightened, but I merely nodded. 

 

If the past few years has taught me anything, it is how to lie, how to appear unaffected. 

 

“Are you okay?” he asked. 

 

I wasn’t, but I covered it up by standing up. “It was twenty years ago. He has no affect over my life.” I don’t know who I was trying to convince, Matt or myself.

 

As I was walking away, I had my first Braxton Hicks contraction of the day. That one wasn’t bad, so I could ignore it. 

 

It was extremely hot that day (which probably  contributed to my issues) so Miranda and Peter spent much of the day swimming. Peter just turned 14 and Miranda is now 8, which means I can leave them to fend for themselves and not worry too much. Matt was fairly preoccupied with the whole trade deal thing, which meant I was alone most of the day, which I am thankful for - sometimes there are just too many people around. I love my kids and my husband, but I had several Braxton Hicks contractions throughout the day. A few were quite painful, but none came at regular intervals, so I knew it was just from the stress and nothing to be worried about and I’m glad the kids and Matt weren’t around to worry about me most of the day. 

 

However, when I was cleaning up from dinner and Matt was helping me (the kids had finished their chore of clearing the table) a pretty strong one hit me. I couldn’t help but lean on the counter and groan in pain. 

 

“Helen?” Matt came to my side, but I brushed him off. 

 

“I’m fine. Cramps,” I explained. 

 

“You sure?”

 

“Yeah, that one just hit me hard.”

 

“ _That one_? Helen, have you been having contractions?”

 

“No,” I replied. “Just Braxton Hicks. They haven’t been regular. It’s nothing to worry about.”

 

A very repetitive disagreement ensued. Matt wanted to call a doctor, I didn’t feel like one was needed. In the end, we agreed that he was going to join me in a cool bath (we were both so warm) and then we were going to bed. If I had any more issues, I would let a doctor see me. What he didn’t tell me was that he had his body-man, Bram, inform Donna. I could have killed him. 

 

We made it to bed with no further points of stress. 

 

However, early that morning, I woke up from a dream having a full scale panic attack. 

 

Back before Matt and I got married, I used to have really bad nightmares about that day when I was attacked in my dorm room and would often wake up in the middle of a panic attack. In these dreams, my attacker was chocking me and I can’t breathe or fight back

 

I guess marrying Matt and knowing my attacker was in prison made these dreams stop. But I think the news that my attacker was a free man, combined with the heat, the stress of returning to Washington, and the fact that I have a child who likes to bounce against my internal organs - including my lungs - in the middle of the night, all brought on the panic attack.  

 

I woke up unable to get a full breath. I began sucking in air in rapid succession. The only thought that ran though my mind was that I couldn’t wake Matt. I tried to get out of our bedroom, but my husband is an unbearably light sleeper. I made it to the end of the bed before I heard, “Helen?”

 

I sat on the edge of the bed and tried to will myself to be okay. 

 

Matt tapped on the light. “Len? What’s wrong?”

 

My only reply was my gasps for air. 

 

“I’m going to get help.”

 

I managed to get out a, “No.” I did not want more people in the room.

 

“Helen, you are not okay.” 

 

Commander-in-Chef Freakin’ Obvious. 

 

I could feel the baby moving around - almost deliberately kicking me. So I felt comfortable in saying, “Baby is okay.”

 

“Okay,” he said, kneeling down if front of me. “Are you having a panic attack?”

 

I nodded. It had been years since I’ve had a panic attack in front of Matt - I’ve gotten good at hiding them from him. Still, he knew what to do. He had me lean forward and he simply rubbed my back while counting his breaths until I was able to join his rhythm. He also made me drink some water to calm me down. 

 

For just a few minutes, he was entirely mine. 

 

“You want to talk about it?” he asked.

 

I shook my head. I didn’t want to bring Trevor Sevoya back into my life. He doesn’t deserve to take up precious time between Matt and I.

 

But, still, Matt knew that was what brought on the panic attack. Matt might sell our house because he has his mind on a million things, but he still knows me intimately. He held me in his arms. “You’re safe. You are my wife and I’m not going to let anything happen to you or the kids. Just remember, I have the Secret Service and the 82nd Airborne at my disposal.”

 

At this, I laughed. 

 

_HS_


	14. Chapter 14

_Donna Lyman - 10/31/2009 - Entry 14_

 

How I ever worked in the West Wing off the White House for seven years, I do not know. The East Wing is a much better fit for me. We have more fun on the east side of the house. Take, for example, Halloween. Every year we dress up, welcome kids in from local schools and military families, give them treats (which include both sweets and dried fruit), and give them both an entertaining and educational afternoon.  

 

This year’s theme was all about empowerment and letting kids know that they can be whatever they want to be when they grow up (Josh complained that this was unrealistic - I told him to tell that to his boss). The theme really went hand in hand with the President’s recent education reform. So we had the children dress up as whatever they wanted to be when they grew up, and then go around to different booths on the lawn to learn about different careers. The end of the event was a short speech by the President, telling the kids how he got to his job and what he does.

 

Because Annabeth, the First Lady, and I all look remotely similar (we are all blonde white women), we have always dressed in the same costume for Halloween. Last year, we had a “Future Science and Technology” theme, so we all dressed up as Princess Leia. This year, we knew the First Lady wasn’t going to dress up, so we dressed up as her, complete with belly bumps (made with pillows).

 

When Mrs. Santos entered our office suite, she laughed. “You guys think it’s funny now. Just wait until you actually get pregnant.”

 

The Halloween event went smoothly. Though I help organize these events, I rarely have to be actively involved, so I was able to quickly slip away to see Josh (as I also had to get the President when it was time for his part, so I had to be in the West Wing anyways).

 

Margaret merely raised an eyebrow as I passed her. 

 

Josh shook his head from behind his desk. “You know, Leo had a policy: whatever happens in the East Wing needs to stay in the East Wing.”

 

“What?” I said, giving him a profile view, rubbing my pillow. “You don’t like it?”

 

“You look like my boss’ wife.”

 

I nodded. “Good answer. But what would you think if I ever ended up in this position?”

 

“I would hope to God my boss didn’t put you in that position.”

 

I quickly pushed out my pillow and threw it at him. 

 

I’ll tell him soon. I just need to confirm with the doctor, not to mention get used to the idea myself. I don’t want Josh to get worked up until I am absolutely sure I am pregnant.

 

_DL_

 

 

_Helen Santos - October 31, 2009 - Entry 14_

 

I am now 35 flipping weeks pregnant and I just do not want to deal with humanity anymore. Unfortunately, I still get woken up by the President of the United States. But no one ever said I actually have to be nice to him. 

 

This pregnancy has less than ideal on our relationship. I’m now sleeping in a recliner in the sitting area of our bedroom - partly because I was waking Matt up at night, but mostly because it is the only place I can actually get into a comfortable position: slightly reclined with my feet up. I’m also so very crabby these days, I often just avoid him. He annoys me.

 

Still, he tries to be sweet.

 

He woke me up this morning with a kiss and a tray of cut fruit, including strawberries. “Good morning love. How are you feeling?”

 

“Ready for this kid of yours to come.”

 

“You say that now,” he laughed. He helped me sit the chair up and gave me the tray. He sat on the arm of the chair. “Maria and I got the kids off for school already.”

 

“Do I want to know what they were dressed as?”

 

“Well, since the Halloween event is all about future careers, Miranda dressed as a civil engineer - complete with a business suit and a hard hat.” Miranda is passed her “princess phase” and has become a really strong girl. She loves math - probably because her math homework is the one thing she gets to do with her father. 

 

“And Peter?” I asked because now that Peter is 14 and in high school he doesn’t have to go along with the White House planned events.

 

“Peter and I decided to go as the same thing today.”

 

I groaned. “Matt?” Matt has joked every Halloween thus far in his position that he is “dressed as the first Latino President of the United States.” Matt (sensibly) doesn’t do Halloween.

 

“He’s 14 and didn’t want to attract any attention to himself.”

 

I pouted. “Has my first baby really grown up?”

 

Matt nodded. 

 

“I’m going as the idiotic First Lady, but I’m that every day. Have we become the boring First Family? ”

 

He held my stomach. “Helen, we are many things, boring is not one of them.” He kissed my belly. “Also,” he said. I groaned. ‘Also’ is his way of changing the subject, which he only does when he wants me to ask me to do something. “I have to go to Huston early next week. I have some meetings and an appearance with the Governor. Do you want to come with me - maybe we can visit our families?”

 

“Matt, I’m eight months pregnant!”

 

“We have a private jet.”

 

I rolled my eyes.

 

“Come on. Next year is the election.”

 

“MATTHEW!” I was pissed.

 

“I barely won Texas in ’06. If I can win it again, along with California, I practically have re-election in the bag.”

 

“That’s hubris. What does Josh call it?”

 

Matt now rolled his eyes. “Tempting the wrath of the whatever from high atop the thing, or something. Come on. Texas loves pregnant you. Shows I have good ’old family values.”

 

“By enslaving your very pregnant wife?”

 

“Well, this is Texas we are talking about. I can arrange for a nice private evening for us.”

 

The things I do for my husband. “This is going on the blackmail list. This is like third from the top of the ‘I owe Helen’ list.” It’s a damn long list. Donna is keeping track for me. 

 

He grinned. “So you’ll come?”

 

“As long as I don’t have to do anything else for the rest of my pregnancy.”

 

“Well, there is the whole labour and delivery part.”

 

And that is how President Santos got a strawberry chucked at his head.

 

I, too, was able to slip away from the Hallowe’en festivities for awhile (what would Donna and I do without Annabeth?). But I escaped for a nap. It was great. If Matt is dragging me to Texas next week, I get to spend the next few days napping whenever I feel like it.

 

_HS_


	15. Chapter 15

_Donna Lyman - 11/04/2009 - Entry 15_

 

It’s happened.

 

How could this happen?

 

And on the 3rd anniversary of Leo McGarry’s death.

 

I know this entry is going to make no sense, but I need to do something to keep myself busy and awake.

 

I’m currently in the Residence with Miranda and Peter Santos. It’s late - it’s 11PM. We are on lock down and not even their aunt can get back in. I’m trying to keep them calm. I was only here because Josh and I were out on a date and he had to run back here for something he forgot when it happened.

 

Josh is running around like a mad-man, trying to get some sort of information - for me to tell the kids, but the Secret Service isn’t releasing anything - not even to Josh. 

 

Because America might be at war. 

 

And I might be sitting with two orphans. 

 

We don’t know if the president is alive. We don’t know if the first lady is dead.

 

Alright, let me explain the basics. The president was giving a speech at a high school in Texas this evening with the Governor of Texas. The first lady was with him - yes, she traveled at 36 weeks pregnant. Near the end of the president’s speech, there was an explosion under or near the stage. Now, no one knows what is happening. 

 

There are conflicting reports coming from the media - I guess it is the nature of speculation in this time of no information. Some are reporting the motorcade went to a military base (some are reporting this as though we are at war, which we might be, though I know a military base would be considered a safe-place for the president to be if there was an attempt on his life). Other sources are reporting the motorcade went to a hospital.

 

Others are reporting that body bags are being brought into the now sealed site.

 

But… there’s no one from the press office here this late to make an official in-person statement. Again, we are on lock down. I think Josh is bringing in the Vice-President, but I’m not sure if anyone else will be allowed in.

 

I’m sure as hell not letting Josh address the world.

 

Which means, I may have to do it.

 

And I will have to tell two children either way.

 

I’m scared, but I can’t show it. So I’m writing endlessly…

 

Josh is here now.

 

_DL_

 

 

_Helen Santos - November 14, 2009 - Entry 15_

 

Okay. This is going to be a long entry, but I need to get this down. History will want my witness to the events of November 4th, 2009. So here it is.  

 

Ten days ago, I agreed to accompany my husband on a trip to Huston - he had some meetings with some energy companies and a pubic speaking event with Governor Alexander Jackson of Texas. A generally quiet day-trip, so I didn’t have any staff with me and Matt only had his Deputy-Chief-of-Staff Veronica Wesse, a few other junior staffers, and the Secretary of Energy. 

 

We flew on Air-Force One early in the morning. Matt and I actually got some time alone, just to cuddle. We needed it. I just didn’t know how much.

 

After we landed, Matt went off to his meetings and I went to my parents house. I spent some time with them, getting the whole guilt trip from my mother for not visiting more often, as well as some gifts for the baby. I then waddled off to Matt’s sister’s - Lucy’s. I got to catch up with my best friend, as well as have a nap on her spare bed (possibly one of the most needed naps of my life - it prepared me to survive what was to follow). Lucy and I then were driven to Matt’s parents where we met up with Matt and had a “normal” family dinner.

 

Matt’s dad, Luis, has Alzheimer’s. We have kept it pretty quiet, plus, it is still in it’s early stages. Though - and Maria, Marita, and I have kept this from Matt - Luis has steadily gotten worse over the past year. Some days he doesn’t know who Marita is. Marita claims she has his care under control with the help from Matt’s brother (which is keeping Jorge out of trouble), but I still feel bad for dragging Maria away to care for my kids.

 

According to Lucy, Luis was having a good day, still, he was having troubles remembering Matt was the President of the United States and why the Secret Service was needed. 

 

Matt and his dad have never been super close - Luis is a simple man and Matt’s dreams were always so big - but I could see how his father’s condition saddened him.

 

However, Luis beamed with pride and Matt could see that. When we left to go to the rally at the high school with Governor Jackson and his wife Fiona, Matt was able to instantly transformed from the son of Luis and Marita, to the President of the United States. The differences are subtle, but he sat up straighter and did up his top button. He led the conversation, instead of merely listening as he did with his father. I love Matt in all his versions, but President Santos is often all business. I felt like just an object at his side. 

 

A very pregnant object.

 

To be honest, I don’t remember what the rally was official for - I’m blaming it on baby-brain. Something about encouraging clean energy. But really it was an early event for both Matt’s and Governor Jackson’s re-election campaigns. However that is not what history will remember the event for. 

 

I don’t remember much of the event. I was seated near the back of the stage and did what I do at nearly every other Presidential event - smile, clap, and try not to fall asleep. People don’t realize this, but I often can’t hear what is being said at the podium, so I often go off into my own little world. 

 

Where I was when the bomb went off. One second I was sitting there, the next, I’m on the grass, barefoot and in pain. It is all frankly a blur from there. I remember the pain in my stomach. The smoke and the screams. I remember two Secret Service agents - Collin Andrews and Ron Butterfield - picking me up under my arms and running with me to the nearest SUV and shoved me into it. 

 

At that point, I realized I was screaming and there was fluid soaking my skirt.

 

The vehicle began moving and started calling, “MATT! WHERE THE [redacted] IS MATT?” Feared gripped me as I had a contraction. I thought my Matt was dead. That was the only logical explanation (in my head) as to why the head of my husband’s security detail was with me instead of Matt - really it was because Ron had been closer to me at the time of the explosion than Matt.

 

Turns out, Matt was so close to the edge of the stage (because he likes to do that thing where he walks around while giving his speeches), he pretty much jumped off and was uninjured when the explosion went off. He had been rushed by about 15 Secret Service agents who were in front of the stage. They had gotten him out in “Limousine One” even before I was shoved into the Secret Service SUV. However, Matt said he was pretty much having an aneurysm trying to get to me, but the Secret Service wouldn’t let him.

 

Anyways, Ron pretty much got that I was in labour and told the driver to get to the nearest hospital while I was still in hysterics. Denial isn’t the first stage of grief. It’s screaming at Ron Butterfield to confirm what I thought was true. Of course he had no idea.

 

We were on radio silence. Ron didn’t want anyone knowing we were on our way to an unsecured hospital. The other Secret Service on Matt didn’t want the location of the secure location where they were bringing Matt to be spoken over radio or phone. This was all encase the attacks on our lives were not over.

 

Which lead to the worst two hours of my, and - as Matt tell me - any president’s lives. I was taken to a hospital and locked in a room with Ron, Collin, three doctors and a team of nurses. Ron was amazing. I’m not sure if I could have done it without him. He held my hand though the contractions and when the doctors told me I was going have to give birth that night. 

 

“Ron!” I screamed. “Sorry, my husband is dead, you failed, so I need you.”

 

“Ma’am, we don’t think -.”

 

“I’M NOT STUPID, so you are going to hold my hand while I push this kid out.” He then gripped my outstretched hand. “What is your real name? Because I’m going to have to scream at someone and I think Ronald is a stupid name.”

 

“Ronen. My full name is Ronen, Ma’am.”

 

I feel really bad for yelling those things at Ronen. He comforted me by saying the White House was secure, so Miranda and Peter were safe. This all is probably hard to envision if you have ever met Ronen Butterfield, but he just kept telling me, “Ma’am, breathe, it is going to be okay.” He probably just wanted to keep me from screaming at him. 

 

Finally, someone got into contact with someone and Ron was able to tell me that Matt was alive and well. I never felt so uplifted in my life.

 

“Oh thank the Lord. Please, is there any way we can get him on the phone?” I knew it would be impossible for him to attend his child’s birth, but having him hear it would have been a compromise. 

 

“We’ll see what we can do.” Ron was about to get up when Collin, who was on his phone, went pale. 

 

“We need to go to the secure location _now.”_

 

I didn’t argue, but one of the doctors did. “The amniotic sac has ruptured and she’s already four centimetres dilated. This child is coming fast - within the next few hours.”

 

Collin wasn’t arguing. He was getting his way. He turned to Ron. “We don’t think the president was the target.”

 

Turns out, I was, along with the bi-racial Governor Jackson, were the targets. Because White-Supremacists make no [redacted] sense. Because a Latino, Native American man can be President, but he can’t have a child with a white woman.

 

AND because a man deserved to die because his mother was white and his father was black? We lost a great man when Alexander Jackson died. 

 

After it was released that Governor Alexander Jackson was dead, a Klan came out and [redacted] bragged about their accomplishments when they assumed I - or at least my child - was also dead.

 

Ron decided it was best if I was transported to the secure location to give birth, since the baby (surprisingly) showed no signs of distress. I really wasn’t given much of a choice in the matter. I was loaded up into an ambulance and we went in silence (well, save for my screaming) to the military base. Thankfully, a team of military doctors were there waiting for me. 

 

I really didn’t care if none of these doctors had delivered a baby. I was put on an military issue medical bed, surrounded by people I had never met, all of whom who had to look at my lady-bits, and I just did not care. I was just ready for the day to end. I just wanted to go to sleep, but the contractions kept coming. 

 

However, I was actually pretty calm by then - perhaps it came from knowing my family was okay, perhaps the adrenaline was gone and I just knew what my body had to do - I had done it two other times. 

 

Plus, drugs. The drugs were helping a lot.

 

After surviving an assassination attempt, I could deliver a kid. 

 

Because, in the face of hatred, fear, and death, this kid was getting life.

 

Then Matt entered the room, surrounded by about 20 other men. More people saw my private area that night than men who have been president. 

 

Matt came to my side and simply held me. The feel of his shirt against my cheek was so simple, yet so comforting. He was crying, so I started crying. 

 

“I guess this kid really wanted to be a Texan,” I said, trying to laugh.

 

Matt smiled. “Yeah.” He kissed my forehead.

 

I offered him my hand. “You ready for this, Mathew?”

 

“You’re doing all the work.”

 

“Damn straight and don’t you forget it.”

 

At 3:03 am local time, after a relatively short labour of 6 hours, I gave birth to our third child. Matt cut the umbilical cord amongst screaming and crying from both me and the baby.

 

Five minutes later, Matt came to me holding a bundle of blankets. "We have a problem.”

 

My heart sank. Then Matt said. “It’s a boy, but we can’t go with Matthew, Junior. They’ll think we cloned me.”

 

I could have killed Matt in that moment. After all I had been through, and he was joking. Joking about the problem and the name (Matthew, Junior was _never_ an option), not about the kid looking like him. Matt placed the baby in my arms. The resemblance is uncanny. “Well,” I sighed. “At least they can’t claim he isn’t yours.”

 

In proper military efficiency, I was recovering in a private room with just Matt and our son an half-an-hour later. Before drifting off to sleep in his arms, Matt and I came up with the name for the sleeping child. 

 

Leo-Vincente Alexander Ronen Santos.

 

Leo, after Leo McGarry, who had died three years prior. Though we only knew him for a few short months, he was integral in getting Matt to where he is today. Matt has always felt a bit responsible for Leo McGarry’s death. My grandfather was named Leopold - a strong Polish name. Leo has always a name we wanted to give this child if he was a boy. It simply felt right to remember such men with our son. 

 

Vincente is a long-running Santos family name and Matt’s own middle name. Matt was never going to get Mathew, Junior, but I let him have Vincente. Leo-Vincente Santos just sounds right.

 

Alexander, after Governor Alexander Jackson. He will not be forgotten. 

 

And Ronen, because after putting up with me on the worst day of my life, Ron deserved something.

 

I better end this. Elvie is waking up for his lunch.

 

Yes, he is nine days old and Leo-Vincente has already has had his name shortened to LV and I chose to write it out as Elvie, because otherwise it just looks like Roman numerals.

 

It was Abbey Bartlet’s idea to shorten it to Elvie. Why Abbey Bartlet came up with my son’s name, is a long story for an entry tomorrow, maybe. But Elvie Santos has just kinda stuck to the kid. I don’t think there’s any changing it.

 


	16. Chapter 16

_Helen Santos - November 15, 2009 - Entry 16_

 

Alright. Perhaps now I’ll have time to explain why I have spent the past few days with President and Dr. Bartlet. 

 

The morning after I had Elvie (and after I had slept), I had to be a part of Matt’s daily intelligence briefing. I was fairly miserable and fairly bitchy. I was still in the medical wing of a military base, feeling the concussion I had, along with the fact that Matt was holding an 7 pound kid I had pushed out of my body just six hours before. Elvie was, thankfully, completely healthy and totally asleep in his father’s arms. 

 

I was meeting the members of Elvie’s Secret Service detail. Yeah, the kid was 6 hours old and already had a detail. I was given instructions to give my newborn to one of four people I didn’t know incase of an emergency. One of these four people will always be with Elvie.

 

“Is this really necessary?”

 

“Christine, Paul, Kennedy, and Regan will essentially be joining your detail, Ma’am,” Ron assured me. “However, they will always carry a pack needed to take care of Leo-Vincente if needed.”

 

I turned to the four new members. “Sorry you guys basically got diaper-bag duty in case of the nuclear apocalypse.” Again I asked, “Is this really necessary?”

 

“Len, we don’t know if you and the baby are safe,” Matt’s voice sounded so vulnerable. “We don’t know exactly how many people were involved in the plot last night.”

 

I didn’t need reminding that someone tried to kill me and my baby. I rubbed my head against my monster headache. “I’m sorry. Thank you all.” I know these people put their lives on their line for me, Matt, and now Elvie. “I guess you want me and Leo-Vincente back in the White House as soon as possible.”

 

Ron nodded. “The doctors have cleared you to travel already. Once you decide on a location that can be properly secured.”

 

I looked at Matt.

 

“We want you and the baby at a location that has the appropriate infrastructure in place for maximum protection for him and you. I know you had originally planned on spending some time away from the White House when the baby came.”

 

I nodded. The White House has hundreds of people come and going - even the Residence has a minimum of twelve people around on any given day. Which means a lot of germs for a newborn. I had originally planned on spending a few weeks at one of the presidential guest houses for the first week or so, but those were out of the plan now.

 

"This is why we need an actual home, Matt,” I reminded him. I sighed. “So what are my options?”

 

Matt replied. “Camp David or,” he paused, “The Bartlets have invited us to stay with them for a few days. It’s actually where I would prefer you. They put in all sorts of security measures in after Zoey was kidnapped so that she and Abbey could stay there, even when Jed was in DC.”

 

Which is how I ended up in New Hampshire. 

 

I was able to flush my colon and have a shower before leaving the military base. One of the few things women will tell you about having a baby is that your first bowl movement after giving birth will leave you needing a shower, which becomes like a bloodbath. But after those two things, you feel like a relatively normal human again. Traveling from the Southern US to the Northern US was actually survivable. Elvie wasn’t much of a fan of Air-Force One though. However, he was he fine as soon as his dad bounced him up and down the plane.

 

When we got to the Bartlet farm, I actually began to question my decision. I didn’t want to be a burden to the Bartlets. I could have made the White House work for a newborn. 

 

But when we got on their porch, Abbey greeted me and Leo-Vincente with a hug. I began to cry and all she said was, “I understand. I understand.” Jed repeated the same words to Matt when they shook hands.

 

And I knew they did. They too had nearly lost a child. 

 

“Come on,” Abbey said. “Let’s get you inside. I have the guest rooms all set up. Maria is on her way with Peter and Miranda. But you need your rest.”

 

“Thank you so much,” I sniffled as I followed her with the baby. “I don’t know how I can ever repay you for your kindness.”

 

She sat with me on the edge of the guest bed as I fed Leo-Vincente. “I wish I had someone who understood what I went through after Zoey was taken. I wouldn’t be much of a mother if I didn’t give you what you needed. You have done amazing work. I want to help so you can keep going. Besides, my life is boring and Jed is driving me insane.”

 

Matt, Miranda and Peter stayed at the Bartlet farm for three days before I sent them back to DC. Peter and Miranda had to get back to school and Matt had to get back to Josh.

 

Before he left, Matt told me, “The party needs to know for sure if I am running for re-election. I would like to run again. I would like to complete my work and get four more years not having to worry about getting elected again. But, if you are done, I understand. Just… think about it. Pray about it. I will do what _you_ want.”

 

I’ve been thinking and praying and I still don’t know my reply.

 

I’ve been here ten days now and they have been a much needed ten days full of rest and laughing (which hurt so much, but I’m sure Donna will recount her visit in her entry and do the the tale justice better than my sleep deprived brain). But I leave tomorrow. I miss Matt and the older kids, but I am also not looking forward to resuming duties as First Lady with Elvie.

 

Which brings me to my quick story on how Elvie got his name. 

 

After his father and siblings left, Elvie wasn’t very happy. I was pacing around with him one late morning muttering to him. I had been up with him since early in the morning. I tried to hush him as I made my way to the kitchen, but Abbey and Jed were already there. They greeted me with smiles as they sat at their table.

 

“Oh, Leo-Vincent doesn’t sound very happy,” Jed commented (Yes, I call him by his first name. He gets mad at me if I don’t - something about if I have to put up with the current president, that should save me from having to call any former president “Sir”).

 

“No, not when old white farts mispronounce his name,” Abbey snipped. “It’s _Vincente_ dear.”

 

“Sounds like an old fart name.” Jed held out his hands.

 

“You would know,” Abbey quipped.

 

 I happily let Jed hold Leo-Vincente and the former president began to coo to the baby, who stopped crying (the kid just doesn’t like me). “You need a shorter name. How about Fifty-Five?”

 

I didn’t get it, but I thought it was due to the sleep deprivation. But Abbey also didn’t get it. “Huh?” she said.

 

“His initials are ‘L’ and ‘V’.” Jed held up his fingers to visualize his point. "That makes fifty-five in Roman Numerals."

 

"Jed, that is dumber than the fact that you thought Jed was a shorter form of Josiah. I'm not sure you are qualified to come up with nicknames.”

 

“No, when people ask this kid where he got such a cool nickname, he’s going to be able to tell them all about his dad and Leo.”

 

I just shook my head at their banter. I hope Matt and I are able to lovingly banter at each other once this thing is all done.

 

“Fifty-Five isn’t much shorter than Leo-Vincente. How about Elvie, as in El Vee?” Abbey concluded. “Elvie Santos.”

 

And that just kinda stuck. First it was just Abbey and Jed calling him Elvie. But then I got tired of saying Leo-Vincente (sorry, kid, it is a long name), and he isn’t much of a “Leo” (both Leos I knew, I knew them as older gentlemen), so I started calling him Elvie on the phone to Matt. Finally, Donna just took it and ran with it. So my son’s name is Elvie.

 

HS

 

 

 

_Donna Lyman - 11/15/2009 - Entry 16_

 

Mrs. Santos and little Elvie return from New Hampshire tomorrow so I’m taking the chance to update this diary.

 

Since that horrible night, things have been relatively quiet in the east wing. I’ve been preparing for Thanksgiving, Christmas, Chanukah and Kwanzaa festivities, but we always knew this year was going to be quite subdued with the baby. I attended the state funeral of Governor Alexander Jackson with the President and Josh since Helen was unable to travel back to Texas.

 

And then I got to meet Elvie!

 

The official reason for my trip to the Bartlets’ was to write an official press release for the birth of Elvie (there was a very basic press release, but since the Santoses didn’t want to make their very personal moments immediately public, all it basically said was that Helen and the president’s newest son were both healthy - needless to say, the media was salivating for more a happier story after coverage of the death of Governor Jackson). But it was an amazing day. 

 

Dr. Bartlet greeted me with a hug and welcomed me into her home. The former president was unfortunately away for the day, giving a speech at an university, so Dr. Bartlet was the one to guide me into her lovely living room. There the current first lady was rocking her son. Mrs. Santos was looking tired, but she smiled when she saw me. Her voice was uncharacteristically soft. “Peter told me you sat with him and Miranda during the lockdown. Thank you.”

 

“I’m just glad everything turned out alright.” I then remembered Governor Jackson. “Well, with you and the baby, I mean.”

 

Mrs. Santos shifted. “You want to hold him for a bit before we get some photos of him?”

 

I nodded as I excitedly took the bundle of blankets. Elvie was so calm, so expertly swaddled. I laughed as soon as I saw him. “So what the President is saying _is_ true. Junior does look exactly like him!”

 

“What is my husband telling people my son’s name is?” Mrs. Santos snapped.

 

I became unsure of what I had just said. “Well, Annabeth wrote the start for the official release we are putting out. The President told us the baby’s name was Leo-Vincente Alexander Ronen Santos. But he calls the baby Junior.”

 

“Jackass!” Dr. Bartlet exclaimed. “The kid’s nickname is Elvie and only Elvie.”

 

Mrs. Santos nodded in agreement. “I’m going to have a few choice words with my husband when I get home.”

 

I nodded as I started cooing to the baby. “Elvie? Is your name Elvie? That is so adorable! Just like you.”

 

I eventually passed Elvie back to his mother and got down to business, asking her how she and her husband planned to raise a newborn in the White House. She’s not taking any breaks from being the First Lady. If every other mother doesn’t get maternity leave in this country, neither will she. She is going to fight for paid parental leave, with a newborn.

 

I shook my head. “With all due respect, Ma’am, you are insane.”

 

Dr. Bartlet laughed. “I told her the same thing.”

 

Mrs. Santos shook her head. “No, I did insane when I had a five-year-old and a newborn when Matt got elected into Congress.”

 

Dr. Bartlet sighed. “Yeah. I remember the days when Jed was in Congress. Zoey was just six when he started, Ellie was ten, and Liz was fourteen. And I worked full-time at the hospital.”

 

“How did you do it?” I asked, genuinely needing to know. I’m about to have a baby with Josh, and I personally love my job - and living in DC isn’t cheap - I still have to tell Josh. I haven’t even thought about how much time I will take off.

 

“I’m not quite sure, I did have my sister living nearby, that helped a lot.” 

 

Mrs. Santos nodded in agreement. “Family - and friends - are a godsend.”

 

My heart sank. Josh nor I have family nearby.

 

“But the age-gap between kids has really helped. I had always wanted my kids to be close in age - my brothers and I were all very close in age and ended up being closer to them than to our much older sister. It didn’t work out that way, but it was a blessing it didn’t. Peter is such a help, and even Miranda is pretty independent.”

 

Dr. Bartlet agreed. “Liz took after the younger two many times for me. If you ever decide to unleash Joshua Lyman’s offspring on us, please make sure it is only one at a time.”

 

“And give us plenty of warning.”

 

“Well,” I addressed the current first lady. “Consider this your seven month warning.”

 

There was a chorus of “What?” and laughs of excitement.

 

“How did Josh react?” Dr. Bartlet asked.

 

“I haven’t had a chance to tell him. He’s been pretty stressed and busy. Plus he’s been waiting to find out if the president is running again. I’d like to know as well.”

 

Dr. Bartlet rolled her eyes. “Yeah, well, that’s _this one’s_ fault.” She hitched a thumb at Mrs. Santos. “If you wait until Joshua isn’t busy, the kid will five years old before Josh finds out he’s a father.”

 

“Is the president running again?” I asked Mrs. Santos.

 

She let out a breath. “I don’t know. He left the decision up to me and I really wish he hadn’t.”

 

Dr. Bartlet snorted. “Matt is the most considerate husband to ever be president.”

 

“I’m currently staying here because he sold our house.” The first lady sighed after her deadpan comment. “I’ll have to make up my mind soon, I know.” She looked at me. “But, you also have to tell your husband your having his kid.”

 

Yeah. I know.

 

DS


	17. Chapter 17

_Donna Lyman - 11/23/2009 - Entry 17_

 

I first heard the rumour from Margret. Josh had “forgot” his lunch this morning (I’m trying to save us money - not to mention try to get my husband to eat healthier - by to packing lunches, but Josh would rather continue to eat out), so when I got to the White House this morning, I stopped by the West Wing to drop it off. When I was there, Margret asked me, “Is it true? Were the president and first lady fighting? I heard it was an all out shouting match. _”_

 

I guess I’m now known as the person who knows the private life of the Santos family. I shrugged. “I haven’t been over there yet. But knowing Mrs. Santos - probably.”

 

When I got to the East Wing, Annabeth was on her computer, working on a Thanksgiving address from the First Family to the nation. She looked up at me. “Mrs. Santos just called. She asked for one of us up in the residence. She sounded rather… desperate. You mind dealing with it? I gotta finish this and explain to some idiot male reporter that the first lady is still working, but she isn’t making any appearances for awhile.”

 

I nodded and headed for the residence. There, it was oddly empty. Usually I’m used to Maria rushing off Miranda or Peter (or the president), but Maria left for Texas yesterday afternoon because one of her best friends had passed away. 

 

I followed the one source of sound: a baby crying, which led me to a set of double wood doors: the president’s bedroom suite. Standing outside was a member of Helen’s Secret Service detail and a member of Elvie’s detail. I nodded to them before knocking on the door. “Ma’am. It’s Donna. Annabeth said you needed one of us.”

 

I got a hoarse, “Come in.”

 

So I did. I entered to see neither the presidential bedroom nor the first lady in their finest moments. Clothing and baby blankets were everywhere. On the floor I distinctly remember seeing a pair of men’s boxer briefs on the floor. I had to step over the president’s underwear. Just glad it was Santos’ and not Bartlet’s.

 

In the corner, in a padded rocking chair, was Mrs. Santos - her hair half up in something that resembled a bun, and wearing a pair of pink pyjamas and a grey US Naval Academy sweatshirt. Her eyes were red an puffy as if she’d been crying. In her arms was Elvie. He was wrapped in a handmade quilt and wailing at the top of his lungs.

 

“Oh thank God you are here. You can yell at me for not hiring nannies later,” she said with a sigh. “Is it horrible I regret not hiring a half-dozen nannies?” She shook her head. “Miranda and Peter off at school. I just need an hour to sleep and maybe tidy up. I don’t know if I’ll be able to rest if he isn’t with someone I completely trust.” Her words, residue from the attempt on her life no doubt. “Would you mind taking him? He’s fed and clean, just wants to be walked with and bounced. I’m just too tired.”

 

I was more than overjoyed. I love babies and I saw an opportunity. “Of course I will,” I took Elvie from her and began bouncing him. He immediately calmed. “I’d love to take care of Junior!”

 

“His name isn’t Junior. You people do realize this?” Helen asked with a sigh as she got up and headed for the unmade bed.

 

“We know, and we all love his name, but he just is so much like the president.”

 

“Unfortunately,” she muttered, climbing into the bed.

 

I couldn’t help but be concerned. “Ma’am? Is everything okay?”

 

She shook her head. “Now I know why only one other woman was dumb enough to have a baby while their husband was president. Frances Cleveland and I will go down as the most idiotic women in history. I wonder how often she fought with old Grover. Not sure if it’s postpartum blues, the sleep deprivation, the isolation, or being married to the President of the United States. Matt and I fought this morning and I know he still wants an answer if he is going to run again or not. I don’t know what to tell him. I just want to sleep.”

 

“Then sleep,” I told her. “Every decision is easier after sleep. Elvie is safe with me,” I said, looking down. “Junior and I are going to bug some important people.”

 

Mrs. Santos sighed. “That’s even now his codename with the Secret Service.”

 

“But he does look like his father.”

 

“Pray that doesn’t happen to your kid. It makes loving the baby so much harder when you are sleep deprived and pissed off at the father.”

 

I shook my head as I made my way out.

 

I bounced Elvie down the hallway with his Secret Service agent following behind us. Elvie was so content once I got him into new surroundings. I cooed to him and despite seeing Mrs. Santos in her wrecked state, I got so excited to have a child. I had to tell Josh.

 

So that is who I decided to bug with Elvie. 

 

Margret said Josh was doing paperwork. I decided my business was more important.

 

Josh didn’t even bother looking up. All could be seen was his forehead and greying hair. “What?”

 

“Someone wanted to visit.”

 

At my voice, he looked up. “What the hell is that?”

 

“It’s Junior.” I sat down on one of the couches as Josh went back to work. 

 

“Don’t let the first lady hear you call him that. She hates it when anyone calls him that.”

 

“I know, I was just seeing if I like the name.”

 

“I’m with the first lady with this one,” he grumbled.

 

“Really? I thought you of all people would want to name your son Joshua Lyman, Junior. 

 

“The whole Junior thing is stupid and narcissistic. Not to mention my mother would have a fit. You’re not allowed to name a child after a living person in Jewish customs.”

 

Josh isn’t exactly religious, nor does he expect me to be, but we do like to repeat his mother and her beliefs.

 

“Any other Jewish naming traditions I should be aware of?”

 

He shrugged. “No.” He went back to work. 

 

“Is there any baby names you really like?” I pried. 

 

“After my dad died, I always thought I’d like to name a kid Noah after him. But, I think the president and first lady got it right with Leo.”

 

I smiled. “I like the name Leo too. I think, if it’s a boy, we should name him Leo.” Josh didn’t pick up on my hints, so I continued. “But what if it’s a girl?”

 

He shrugged, again. “Never really gave much thought to it.”

 

“Well you should think about it. You should also use Elvie to get used to having a baby. Maybe we should offer to take him for a night, give his parents a break and give us some practice.” I was thinking out loud at this point, trying to get him to pick up on my thoughts.

 

“Why would we want to do that?”

 

For Chief of Staff, Josh is fairly dense.

 

I had to say it. “Josh. I’m pregnant.”

 

There was a moment of stillness before all chaos broke loose. First I heard an “OH MY GOD” from the direction of the office door. It was Margret.

 

Out of instinct, Josh yelled at her, upsetting Elvie, who started wailing, which caught the attention of his father. President Santos opened the other door, which meant I had to stand up (when the president enters, no one sits). Except Josh still sat. 

 

“No one told me we had a visitor.” He took the baby from me and the kid pretty much instantly stopped crying. “Did we stage a prison escape from Mom?”

 

I explained quickly, wanting to get rid of the president to make sure Josh didn’t just have an aneurysm. “The first lady got Peter and Miranda off to school and saw an opportunity to get some sleep. I was just wandering around with him.” 

 

The president nodded as he placed the pacifier clipped onto the baby’s onesie into the child’s mouth. “I can look after Junior for a bit.” 

 

“Just don’t let the first lady hear you call him that.”

 

President Santos laughed. “Josh, I don’t have anything until the turkey pardoning later, right?”

 

Josh didn’t reply. I thought I should step in to save my husband’s job. “I just told him I’m pregnant.”

 

The president nodded, knowingly. “Congratulations.”

 

The rest of the day was actually pretty quiet. Mostly because Josh was stunned silent. But I did catch him looking at my stomach and smiling. 

 

_DL_

 

 

_Helen Santos - November 23, 2009 - Entry 17_

 

I’ve officially lost my sanity. You’ll see why at the end of this entry. 

 

Life hasn’t been easy with a newborn in the White House. Elvie isn’t a colicky baby, but he’s still a baby. I’ve been handling duties as First Lady and mother fine, just so long as no one (read: my husband) crosses my path. Unfortunately Maria’s friend died two days ago and there was no way I wasn’t letting her go back to Texas and letting her have time to grieve. I’m a bitch, but I’m not a monster. She’ll be back later this week. I keep telling myself I can make it without sleep until then. 

 

Typically I take care of Elvie during the night, then Maria comes in the early morning, she takes Elvie, I get two or three hours of sleep, then she and I get Peter and Miranda off. This morning, however, Elvie was up at 3 and could not be negotiated with. He had just fallen asleep a bit before 6 and I thought I was going to get at least a power nap in before having to get up, then my husband showed up.

 

Matt has insisted on sleeping in the Lincoln bedroom while I remain in the president’s bedroom with Elvie, which makes no sense to me since he still has to use our bathroom and closet to get ready. But it hasn’t been a big deal because he usually showers after his workout and his breakfast (at around 7) and by that time Maria has Elvie. 

 

This morning, however, the early shower woke up Elvie so when Matt stepped out, wrapped in a towel, holding his dirty laundry to put in the hamper (now beside the bed for all the lovely baby and boob juices I am now dealing with), I was not pleased.

 

“What the hell? Why are you here early?” I groaned at him as I was tiredly bouncing his kid.

 

“I skipped my work-out so I could get Miranda and Peter off to school. Here, let me take Elvie.”

 

“I don’t need your help,” I snapped, undoing my nightshirt so I could try to feed Elvie. I was being spiteful by doing the one thing he can’t do. “I had everything planned out, but you had to come in and wake the baby.”

 

“I can help.”

 

“No, you can’t. You have to focus on your job.”

 

He sighed. “ _This_ argument again?”

 

“YES! THIS ARGUMENT, MATTHEW! THE ONLY ARGUMENT! Because my entire life revolves around you. But I can do it. I can be a single mother. I did it when you were off in Congress.”

 

“Helen, I have a light day, I can help so you can get some sleep.”

 

“I was getting sleep until you charged in, making a ton of noise! This sleeping arrangement _isn’t_ working. I should be in the other bedroom and you should be in here so you don’t wake up Elvie.”

 

“No, you and Elvie need to be in here.”

 

“This makes no sense! You’re the _president._ This is this is the presidential suite!”

 

“It is also the safest room in the building. I can sleep well knowing you two are safe in here.”

 

I should have seen his heartfelt intentions. Instead I continue to be a bitch. “Well at least one of us is sleeping. Just drop your dirty clothes and go to where you are actually needed. It’s where you want to be.”

 

He stood there, stunned. “Thanks for confirming what a horrible father I am, Helen.”

 

I shook my head. Elvie, at this point, was not eating, so I had made myself decent and had wrapped him in a blanket. This allowed me to leave the suite in a huff, baby in my arms. After I got Miranda and Peter up, Peter asked me if I was okay - I think he saw the tears. I said no, but that I was just really tired. He assured me he could get himself and his sister off to school (which he did) and let me go back to bed. Back in the suite, I just started crying (with Elvie) as soon as I saw Matt’s discarded sweatshirt he sleeps in. I put it on. I called the east wing for someone to come get Elvie and I was so relived when Donna showed up. 

 

I wanted to apologize to Matt in that moment, but I knew I needed sleep, so I did that. I slept for three hours, had a quick shower and got dressed. I left the suite and asked one of my Secret Service agents - Zach - where my child was.

 

“Anyone have eyes on Junior?” he asked into his mic as I rolled my eyes. After a moment he replied, “He is in the Oval Office, Ma’ma.”

 

I thanked him and he walked with me. I’ll be happy once this assassination paranoia calms down.

 

Ronna nodded me into Matt’s office and I shook my head. Matt was behind his desk, doing work, with Elvie in one of my baby-slings (Donna must have grabbed it).

 

“Uh, oh, Leo-Vincente, you’ve been discovered!”  Matt chuckled. He looked at me. “You should have told me you were up. I would have walked him back to the residence.”

 

“It’s fine. I figured a walk would be good for me.”

 

“Did you have a nap?” he asked as he got up.

 

“Yeah,” I paused as I sat down on one of the couches. “I’m sorry for yelling at you this morning, and for storming out. I didn’t mean what I said… well most of it. I don’t need your help, but I want it. You are an amazing father. The kids love you. I love you.”

 

At this point, he was seated next to me. He kissed me. “You were tired. It’s okay. But I do want to help more. Thanksgiving is tomorrow so I’m really not expected to do anything after I pardon a turkey in two hours. Plus, what do I ever do on Sundays but sit around? I want to be your husband again, and a father to all my kids. I think - baring nuclear threats - we should spend Saturday evenings as a family and you and I can sleep in the same room on Saturdays. I can help with Elvie and maybe get a little something-something when he decides to sleep.” He wiggled his brows.

 

I snorted. “ _If_ he decides to sleep.” I sighed. “But that sounds lovely. So, what did Elvie get up to his first visit to the west wing?” 

 

Matt shrugged. “You know, meeting with the joint-chiefs… emergency meeting with the Chinese ambassador in the Sit-room.”

 

“What? Why didn’t you get Donna to take him.”

 

“Oh calm down,” he laughed. “The only visitors we got were Ed and Larry for the turkey-pardoning speech. The biggest excitement we’ve had was Donna telling Josh that she’s pregnant.”

 

“She finally told him?”

 

“Yeah. I’ve kept the door open. Josh occasionally wants Donna to confirm it’s real, then goes back to being completely silent.”

 

Matt and I eavesdropped on Josh and Donna for a bit. Some of my favourite exchanges were:

 

Josh: “So you are due in…?”

 

Donna: “Seven months.”

 

Josh: Hyperventilating.

 

Donna: “Don’t burst. We have plenty of time.”

 

Josh: “Yeah, and then you’re going to burst.”

 

And:

 

Josh: “We are going to have to go to a car dealership. To get a van.”

 

Donna: “Our cars are fine. I’m only having one baby.”

 

Josh: “Oh God, I just had a vision of what twins would be like.”

 

And last, but not least:

 

Donna: “I’m thinking, I want to try a natural birth, and maybe a water birth.”

 

Josh: “Oh god. There’s going to be a birth.”

 

At that last exchange, Matt had to cover my mouth to stifle my laughter. Finally I said. “Elvie and I had better let 

Daddy pardon his turkey. But, I wanted to let you know: I want you to run for re-election.”

 

It was a hard decision for me, but in the end, I knew I had to do it. I can deal with another for more years if it means a lifetime of a happy and satisfied husband. 

 

“Thank you, Helen. I don’t have to do this if you don’t want me to.”

 

“I want you to. I don’t want these past few years to go down in history and in your head as a job half done. We are finishing this because we have more to do.”

 

He kissed me.

 

I continued with a tease. “And I don’t want all this blackmail material to be negated by the fact that I wouldn’t let you run again. Plus it’s not like you’re actually going to win.”

 

He laughed as I got up. “I believe you said that when I ran for city-council. If there’s anything you want me to, just ask.”

 

“Yeah, get the secret service to change their code-name for our youngest child. It seems that everyone is now calling him Junior. I can’t imagine why,” I said sarcastically.

 

Matt pretended to be innocent. “Me neither. I shall get right on that.”

 

When the Secret Service agent outside the door saw me leave, I heard him say, “Jade is leaving Jaguar and she has Jackalope with her.” 

 

H.S.


	18. Chapter 18

_AN:_ Last few entries have been really long, so the next few are a bit shorter. Hope you still enjoy!

 

_Donna Lyman - 05/26/2010 - Entry 18_

 

Today the first lady surprised me with a baby-shower! I’m just a few weeks away from my due date and today was my last day in the East Wing, at least for awhile (hopefully… more on that later) so Mrs. Santos invited my mom, my sister-in-law, Ainsley Seaborn (who is also pregnant, but due in three months), Annabeth, and Dr. Bartlet into our office suite. It was mostly pretty relaxed  - some food, some gifts, and some great company.

 

The men were all together, doing something humans with Y chromosomes do. Mrs. Santos told them to leave us alone. They didn’t listen. 

 

They barged in all excited as we were eating cake. 

 

“Don’t get up,” the president told us. Elvie was in his arms, babbling away (he is 7 months old now and just the most adorable thing I have ever seen). 

 

“Good, because we weren’t going to anyways,” Mrs. Santos said as he sat beside her, placing Elvie into her lap. “Thought I told you all to scram.”

 

“Give me my godbaby first,” Dr. Bartlet requested, stealing Elvie from his mother. Yes, the former president and first lady are Elvie’s godparents.

 

“We have a plan,” Josh announced, sitting next to me.

 

“Uh-oh,” Annabeth and Dr. Bartlet both groaned.

 

“Does it involve a foot-rub?” I asked.

 

“Oh! Good idea!” Ainsley said, jabbing Sam.

 

It did.

 

Sam then announced. “I’m not going to run again. At least for Congress.”

 

“Okay, that’s nice,” Ainsley nodded.

 

“Perhaps you guys should start from the top,” the former president suggested. 

 

“Yes, thanks Sir,” Josh said with a nod. “Basically, President Bartlet and Santos have told us being fathers will be the most important jobs we will ever have, but Sam and I also want to make the future better for them. We also know you and Ainsley like your jobs. Donna, you said to me before that you were so happy making a difference using the East Wing.”

 

“Aren’t they getting sappy?” Abbey quipped.

 

“So,” Josh continued. “After little Lyman comes, I’ll take a few days off - Selena can step in for me and we can get Ed or Larry to help her - but I’ll return to work. I’ll work until the end of President Santos’ first term, then when he is sworn in again-.”

 

“IF!” the president shouted. “We do not tempt the Lord in this house!” The former president nodded in agreement.

 

“Especially when it comes to Torvald Drumf,” Abbey added.

 

“And we _don’t_ say that name in here either,” Mrs. Santos added with disgust (I really hope she gets around the writing an entry about the candidate for the Republican nominee known as Drumf - he’s like some comic book villain).

 

“ _If_ I am sworn in for a second term, Sam will take over as my Chief of Staff,” the president announced. “Donna and Ainsley can return to work as they please.”

 

Ainsley nodded. “The Counsel’s office is pretty quiet. I planned to come back pretty quickly anyways.”

 

“And if either of you want to drop your children off here with Maria or myself, you can,” the first lady offered. “This place is practically a day-care with Elvie anyways. I’m sure he’d love some peer interactions.”

 

I looked at Josh. “You’re retiring?”

 

He shrugged. “We did discuss the possibility of me being the parent who stays at home. I can still be around as an adviser. I’m not sure my sanity can take being in the West Wing daily much longer. Plus I need to take a break before getting Sam on board to be the next president.”

 

I rolled my eyes. I’m pretty sure Josh will make our baby president one day. The guy has an addiction.

 

I got some lovely baby gifts at the shower: sleepers, a high-chair from the Bartlets, clothes. The first lady even made me a beautiful quilt with bears, moose and beavers on it. According to her, it was so that my child “can embrace his Canadian roots.”

 

DL

 

 

_Helen Santos - June 19, 2010 - Entry 18_

 

Now the entry you all have been waiting for (if this diary actually ever gets published). Annabeth and I were in the East Wing, not doing a lot (things in the White House have been pretty focused on Matt’s re-election, which has meant some pretty quiet times for my temporary chief of staff Annabeth and myself), when the phone rag. It was Donna. She seemed fairly calm, but also had a twinge of excitement and fear.

 

“Ma’am, I hate to do this to you, but I can’t get ahold of Josh and I really don’t want to call Margaret. I’m pretty sure I’m in labour.” I don’t blame her for not calling Margaret. Margaret is weird. 

 

But I also had to roll my eyes at Josh. With his love for his cellphone, how could the idiot not be reachable WHEN HIS WIFE IS NINE MONTHS PREGNANT! 

 

But this was my moment to repay Donna for everything. “I’ll get him to you.”

 

I was then running across the White House (barefoot). I literally grabbed Ed and Larry on my way by. I found Josh with my husband and a few other members of staff in the Oval Office (so they weren’t in the sit room, which means I really wasn’t interrupting _much_ \- if I did, it’s okay, it’s me - they all already know I’m a bitch). Everyone looked at me confused. I first pointed at Josh. “Your wife is in labour.” I then looked at Josh’s (most recent) deputy, Selena. “Congratulations on the temporary promotion. Here are your temporary deputies,” I said as I gestured to Ed and Larry. 

 

Josh looked stunned and I knew there was no way he was going to be able to drive to his house to get Donna then get her to the hospital without running anything over (since Matt had said that Josh was technically temporary relieved of all Chief of Staff duties the moment Donna went into labour, so no Secret Service). So I got him in an SUV and I got my Secret Service to pick up Donna then we dropped them off at the hospital.

 

The entire time I had to remind Josh to breath. 

 

That was four days ago. 

 

This afternoon I went to the Lyman’s house to greet little Leo Josiah Lyman into the craziness of life. 

 

Leo is positively adorable. I love that Leo McGarry lives on in the Lymans’ child. 

 

His parents are exhausted, but Josh always smiles whenever he picks Leo up.

 

 _HS._  


	19. Chapter 19

_Helen Santos - September 21, 2010 - Entry 19_

 

I can’t believe I’m actually writing this. Ugh. This entry will probably be why people will buy this book (if a publisher ever dares to even attempt to do anything with this).  But I personally hope Torvald Drumpf will die within people’s memories by the time this is published.

 

Drumpf is the Republican candidate against Matt for the 2010 presidential election. I personally think he’s a Neo-Nazi disguised as sock puppet with an orange peel as hair. He has NO EXPERIENCE in public office. I’m not even exaggerating. He’s a “real-estate tycoon” and businessman. He’s rich because his father was. And Republicans complained that Matt had “limited experience” four years ago. Ugh.  Drumpf has no political platform - all he says he wants to do is build a wall to keep out illegal immigrants from Mexico (AND has accused Matt of being an illegal immigrant) and cut taxes for the rich to create a “trickle down” economic effect.

 

I dislike the man. But I’m not the only one. Secretary Vinnick - who swore up and down four years ago he would do nothing to help Matt get re-elected - endorsed Matt for re-election, simply to try to prevent Drumf from [redacted] up the world. 

 

I have no idea how Drumpf got the nomination, but Ainsley (who is so pregnant, she’s about ready to pop) said it sorta made sense. First, Matt won against Vinnick - a centrist Republican- four years ago, so it made sense the party would try a new approach: someone who is extremely right wing. Plus, all the Republicans who are sensible candidates are waiting four years. They don’t want to go up against an incumbent when, in four years (after what will hopefully by 16 years of Democratic rule) a Republican win is nearly guaranteed. Matt’s approval ratings are nothing special (though we saw a spike after Elvie was born - everyone loves babies), but the Left loves him, and many centrist Republicans tolerate him because he has Vinnick as his Secretary of State and Ainsley as his Counsel.

 

People are saying Matt has this in the bag, but I’m not tempting God or the universe or whatever. I _fear_ what America will become under Drumpf.

 

Oh, and Drumpf hates me and the fact that I’m a Canadian. So that’s fun. 

 

 

 

_Donna Lyman - 09/25/2010 - Entry 19_

 

I’m still on maternity leave with Leo. He’s 3 months old now and I swear every day he is discovering something new and I’m discovering more of his personality. I love being a mom, but I do plan on going back to the White House to work if the president gets re-elected. Josh deserves time as a father. Leo deserves his dad. 

 

In the mean time, I am so happy I am watching this election from afar (well, as far as I can, living with Josh). The fervent racist rhetoric from the opponents is making me sick. Ainsley is my best friend and I agreed with some of her standings on issues, but I don’t like what the Republican party is turning into. But I don’t think she does either. There are days when I just have to turn it all off. But it is hard to escape from. 

 

The first lady has been surprisingly vocal during this election. I caught a segment of a speech she made down in Florida a few days ago and it really stuck with me.

 

_“America is living my life: the country is living and breathing politics 24 hours a day, seven days a week. And it’s poison. I’m not saying it is bad to be informed of the issues, but too much of anything is a bad thing. It is unhealthy. I would know. Hateful statements are addicting. We are all drinking the same Kool-Aid. And it is ripping our country apart. Republicans hate Democrats and Democrats hate Republicans. But that isn’t true. We are all Americans.”_

 

 It is clear she and Annabeth have become impassioned about the current state of affairs. But I think they are also having fun.

 

I was up late last night (Leo was hungry) and caught Mrs. Santos on one of the late night entertainment shows, hosted by Steve Stewards. 

 

Mrs. Santos walked out onto the stage in a flowing green dress. She shook Stewards’ hand and waved to the audience with a huge smile before sitting down. This was their conversation. 

 

Stewards: Wow, Ma’am, you look amazing!

Mrs. Santos: Thank you, Steve. Two hours of sleep per night does wonders for the face. 

 

(As an side, I know that feeling well).

 

Stewards: Let’s get right to it with the question that’s on everyone’s minds. How is Leo-Vincente?

Mrs. Santos: He’s great. He’s almost 11 months old and took his first steps by himself a week ago. I’m pretty sure the Secret Service was horrified. 

Stewards: Is he going to be a trouble-maker?

Mrs. Santos: Probably.

Stewards: But he’s so adorable.

 

A picture then appeared on the screen - it looked like Elvie, with his wide grin and perfect hair, but the photo looked about 50 years old.

 

Mrs. Santos: You know, there was a quiz making the social media circuit a few weeks ago, testing to see if people could tell what images were of Matt as a baby and what ones were photos of Elvie. I can tell you, for a fact, that picture is my husband.

Stewards: How did you do on the quiz? I got five out of ten.

Mrs. Santos: Ten out of ten. My husband is the middle child out of seven kids. There exists exactly three pictures of him before his first birthday.

 

Another picture appeared, this one of the president holding Elvie. They were wearing identical suits. 

 

Stewards: Something tells me Elvie won’t have that same problem. 

Mrs. Santos: No. People love it when I post pictures of him.

Stewards: It’s the highlight of my day. I need them to get though this election season.

Mrs. Santos: Can we please not talk about that? I’m having so much fun talking about my kids.

Stewards: Are you as done with it as we are?

Mrs. Santos: I can’t even joke and say I’m not voting for my husband in hopes that our lives will go back to normal. Because if he doesn’t win, he’s getting deported to Mexico and I’m getting shuttled back to Canada.

Stewards: Is that really a fear?

Mrs. Santos: Well, it’s better than what the rest of you will face.  

 

Part of me wishes I could be helping with the campaign. But I think I would also lose my mind. It’s a mess.

 

DL


	20. Chapter 20

_Helen Santos - November 4, 2010 - Entry 20_

 

It’s done. It’s finally over. 

 

The good news is that hatred has been defeated. The bad new is that now I have to live in Washington for another four years.

 

I’m not sure if I can really recall all the absurdity that has happened over the past few months. I’m honestly trying to block it out. Between Matt being accused of being an illegal immigrant (no, no he isn’t - he was very much born in Texas), Elvie’s birth being labeled as a publicity stunt (I would have never have agreed to put myself though what I did for Matt’s career), AND a sound-clip of Drumpf openly admitting to sexually assaulting a woman and being proud of it, I have no idea if it was just all a bad dream. Ugh.

 

I don’t mind the fact that I have to raise my three kids in the White House for another four years if I don’t have to say “ugh” in response to a candidate for president again. 

 

We are currently in a hotel in Houston - we travel back to the White House later today (I miss my kids so much - it’s Elvie’s 1st birthday tomorrow! We are going to have a huge party for him). There was a huge celebration here early yesterday morning when it came out that Matt had won California, Oregon, and Washington state - he had also won Texas and many swing states in the north east. Matt pretty much grabbed me and kissed me.

 

When I woke this morning in our hotel bed, he was already up, watching me. “Hey there, Mr. President,” I said.

 

He held me close. “Thank you, for everything, Len.”

 

“I’m just glad we _NEVER_ have to do it again.”

 

“Yeah,” he laughed. “Never again.” He then paused for a beat. “But you still have to have sex with the president for another four years.”

 

I shoved him off of me. “Yeah, you wish, Jackass.”

 

_HS_

 

 

_Donna Lyman - 11/20/2010 - Entry 20_

 

Josh is home a lot more now, now that the election is over (we won!). During the last few weeks of the election, I hardly saw him, but when he returned home victorious two weeks ago, Leo (dressed in a three piece suit - he looked so adorable!) and I welcome him back. 

 

He hugged us both tightly. “It’s over,” I told him.

 

He nodded and took Leo out of my arms. “It still feels weird though - that I won’t be around for term number two. Both Congress and the Senate are Democratic. You guys are going to get so much done.”

 

Yeah, I think we are. “You’ll be around, I’m sure. Someone has to keep the dreamers grounded.”

 

Josh kissed Leo’s head. “After this nightmare of an election, I think the President and Sam are allowed to dream for the future they want to see.”

 

But, even though I’m joking with Josh about going through work withdrawals (on January 21st when his “retirement” begins - we both are well aware that this is simply a temporary leave of absence from work - I’m pretty sure he’s going to follow me to the White House like a lost dog), I think this will be good for him, Leo, and me.

 

For the past few nights, Leo has just been not happy. I’ve started to wean him and Leo is just not liking that he can’t have his instant 3AM meal and cuddle combo with his mommy. Leo is just so opinionated these days. He knows what he likes and what he doesn’t like and will _scream_ if he doesn’t like something, like being hungry. Daddy will cuddle him instantly, but it takes a bit for Josh to get the milk to Leo. I know 5 months is a bit early to stop breastfeeding, but I need him weaned by the time I go back to work and his doctor has given me the okay since we have started him on solid foods (Josh actually got to feed Leo his first meal of mashed sweet potato. Let’s just say Leo was fairly orange by the time it was over). 

 

Anyways, last night, there was a storm and the power went out, so Josh had the task of warming Leo’s bottle using warm water. Leo just wasn’t having any patience and - with the power out - I couldn’t find any of his pacifiers.

 

“Just let me feed him tonight,” I begged Josh. I had my head on the kitchen table.

 

“No, Donna.” Josh was walking around the kitchen, bouncing Leo. “We gotta keep going at this.” He then went back to blowing raspberries at Leo. Josh hasn’t had nearly the amount of 3AMs with Leo as I have.

 

“I am so tired and I have a solution. It’s not going to slow the process if, one night, I feed him.”

 

“You’re weak, Donna. You’re slowing your son’s progress.” 

 

Finally, Josh checked the bottle. It was ready and Leo practically sucked it in, he was so hungry. Leo wrapped his hands around the bottle and no one was going to take it from him. In the light of the flashlight, Josh kissed my forehead. “Go back to bed. I got him.”

 

I smiled as I got up. “You’re not going to announce that ‘victory is yours’?”

 

“I think it’s heavily implied by the happy child in my arms.”

 

I rolled my eyes. I was so tired, I don’t remember getting back into bed. But I did and when I woke up, I was next to my son and husband.

 

Josh was awake, staring down at Leo. 

 

“I thought we were going to try getting him to sleep through the night in his own room,” I mumbled. “You’re slowing your son’s progress.”

 

Josh kissed Leo’s fist. “Daddy could only take so much growing up for one night.”

 

“You’re weak.”

 

He grinned. “Yeah.” 

 

“Our son has made you weak in your old age.”

 

Leo really has.

 

_DL_


	21. Chapter 21

Helen Santos - September 17, 2011 - Entry 21

 

Donna and I are having some problems remembering to write this in diary, but with good reason. Elvie is 22 months now, and Leo is 15 months. Both are walking. Josie Seaborn is 11 months and can scoot around after the boys - she’ll be chasing after them before we know it. Quite often at least two of them are underfoot in the East Wing as we are trying to work. And working we are. 

 

We lobbied the government to make childhood vaccinations mandatory unless there is a medical reason not to. And now, with the help of Josh (yes, Josh is working a few hours a week in the east wing, and still is an advisor for my husband from time to time - Matt and I took pity on Donna), we are lobbying to change labor laws, to make paid maternity and paternity leave available to every new parent.

 

Maybe it’s the weight of re-election off of our backs, or maybe after 5 years of this, we finally got the hang of this. 

 

Of course, there are still bad days. Last week, we had a particularly bad day. Not the country, but more personally.

 

Of course, the day started at about 3AM. Elvie is going through his 2 year sleep regression; his back molars are coming in, so he’s just not having a great time. I was up with him till about 5:30, then Matt woke up and took him from me. Elvie is just his father’s son. Everytime Matt picks him up, he will just instantly stop crying and rests his head on Matt’s shoulder. Elvie can now say several words in both English and Spanish (like Peter and Miranda, we are raising Elvie bilingually: I only speak to him in English and Matt only speaks to him in Spanish), but Matt just glows every time Elvie says “Hola Daddy”.

 

Matt went off to the west wing to work, and I had just got Peter and Miranda off to school (Peter is now in 11 th grade - I can barely believe he’ll be driving soon; Miranda is now in the 5 th grade. They both are amazing. I’m not sure how I did it. I’m not sure I can take credit. Both like to be very low profile and know how to not attract attention to themselves - even with the Secret Service following them around). I was getting Elvie dressed, when Josh entered the residence, Leo on his hip. 

 

“The Congolese military just invaded Equatorial Kundu. Sam and your husband have asked for me in the situation room,” he told me.

 

I had no idea why he was telling me, and giving me Leo instead of his wife, but I took the kid, much to Elvie’s delight. Once Maria and I got breakfast into them both, the boys and I headed downstairs and to the east wing. Turns out Donna had an dentist appointment. Josh had come with Leo to work on the paternity leave stuff early, then got sucked into helping with the Kundu situation (as the US had a peacekeeping force along there, along with missionaries and medical volunteers).

 

Ainsley Hayes came by to drop off Josie. Yeah, I’m running a day-care out of a room with 19 th century furniture - but the kids have a ‘pen’ in my office suite with so many toys. I can keep them pretty entertained, but normally I do have Donna’s help. But today Elvie was just crabby and Leo wanted one of his parents (I don’t think both have left him before). Josie was pretty happy though, as long as I or Annabeth were helping her stand up. Needless to say, not a lot of work was accomplished. I felt sorry for Annabeth - this is not what she signed up for.

 

Then, just after 10AM, the news broke: former president D.W. Newman had died. He served as president in the late 80s. It was a shock - he had died very suddenly of an brain aneurysm. He had given Matt much support. Annabeth quickly worked with the west wing communication office to put out a statement and I made it known to the family (through their secretary - the man had no wife or kids) that I was available to help in any way. Then Annabeth went to see if she could be of any help to those coordinating the plans. But I know things like this are planned to the letter. 

 

I had to write plans for Matt’s funeral five years ago. It was an emotional experience (also, very odd to do plan the small details and figure out what state offices had to coordinate, while Matt sat next to me, eating popcorn, telling me to just ‘put him in a cardboard box’) but also put me at ease to know it was all figured out. I coordinated former first lady Libby Lassiter’s - Owen Lassiter’s widow - funeral 3 years ago (it was awkward - I never met the woman but she made her disapproval of me and my thong very public), so I knew very little oversight needed to be done. I knew Matt would need to give one of the eulogies, dignitaries would need to be confirmed, and the body would be laid in state for a few days.

 

Now, as odd as it is, there is only one former president and first lady alive: Jed and Abbey Bartlet. 

 

Around noon, Donna came back, clearly in pain. “Cavity,” she muttered. “Dentist had a cancelation and fit me in. Where’s my husband?”

 

“My husband wanted help fixing problems in Africa,” I replied.

 

“So he stuck you with our kid?” she said, ruffling Leo’s golden locks of hair. 

 

I shrugged. “It’s been quite around here, you know, other than the President dying.”

 

“I heard about that. Does anything need to be done?” 

 

I shook my head. “I think Ed and Larry are on it. Annabeth went to keep them in check.”

 

She sighed. “I’ve done this twice now with the Lassiters. Mind if I go help them?”

 

I let her go, knowing she wanted to help. Sometimes, when the world is crumbling at its seams and when people are grieving - whether it is for one man or one hundred - we can feel like what we do in the east wing - hosting events, lobbying for small changes - is “fluffy stuff” as Josh calls it. 

 

I was alone at 4pm. That was when I got the call. It was Lucy, Matt’s youngest sister. Luis, Matt’s father, had been rushed to the hospital. He died of cardiac arrest shortly afterwards. They are unsure what caused it. I was shaking by the time I could reply. I told her that Matt and I would be there with the kids as soon as I could. 

 

Luis was a kind man, a devote Catholic, a supportive father, and a loving grandfather. He never quite understood Matt’s draw to politics, but tried his hardest to. His death, though sudden, came as almost a healing balm - as strange as that sounds. Luis had Alzheimer’s. It had gotten quite bad - particularly since Elvie’s birth. So, as difficult as the news was, it was a premature end to a nightmare. Still, not being able to be there when it happened, to say a final goodbye, was hard. 

 

I called Donna first. I told her she needed to come get Leo and Josie. When she arrived, she asked, “Ma’am? What happened?” I was crying. Elvie was in my lap, crying too. I know he didn’t understand what happened, but he knew I was sad. I think Leo knew as well, because he sat quietly while Josie napped. 

 

“Matt’s dad died. I have to go, tell Miranda and Peter, then Matt.” I wiped my eyes, trying to compose myself.

 

“I’m so sorry Ma’am. Is there anything I can do?”

 

“Just watch Josie until Ainsley comes. I have to go.”

 

She reached for my hand and squeezed it. “I’m here for you.” She the hesitated. “You know protocol, right?”

 

I nodded. “I tell Sam first.” With difficult, personal news like this, the Chief of Staff is told first, then he decides the right time to tell Matt.

 

When I got back to the residence with Elvie, Maria was on the couch, crying. We hugged. She took Elvie from me. “I have to feel useful, since I can’t be with Mom.”

 

“We will leave. As soon as Matt knows, we will leave,” I promised.

 

Miranda and Peter then entered, returning home from swimming practice. As soon as Peter entered, he said, “Oh, oh, Lord.” Miranda started to cry. Poor kids. They thought it was their father. What a nightmare to live a childhood thinking their father was at the heart of all bad news.

 

“Grandpa Luis died,” I said softly. 

 

Peter almost looked relieved as he hugged his sister. 

 

I then had to head to the basement, to the situation room. I asked the officer stationed at the door, “I need to speak to Sam Seaborn, but please don’t announce it is me.” That would have just alarmed Matt and I didn’t want him distracted if he needed to focus. I was reminded of Luke 9:60. ‘Let the dead bury their own dead, but you go and proclaim the kingdom of God’. 

 

Matt had important work. The dead could wait.

 

I’m shocked at how cold being the first lady has made me.

 

Sam appeared and looked surprised to see me.

 

“Matt’s father died about a half hour ago. Cardiac arrest.”

 

“Oh! I am so sorry.”

 

“Just tell Matt when the time is right.”

 

I knew I should have gone back to my children, but my feet were planted. I had to be there for Matt. 

 

About an hour later, a dozen people, including heads of the army and Secretary Vinick started to file out. It was a few minutes later when Matt emerged with Sam and Josh. “Thank you, both,” Matt said with a nod. He then saw me and hugged me. His eyes were red, but he wasn’t crying. 

 

“I will make sure Air Force One is ready,” Sam said. 

 

“And whatever else you need,” Josh added before they disappeared.

 

“How are you holding up?” he asked. “How are the kids?”

 

“I’m fine. I think the kids need you though.” 

 

He nodded. “And I think I need them.”

 

We left for Houston that night. It was a Friday. Matt, Peter, Miranda, Maria, and Elvie all just sat together on the flight.

 

Luis was buried on Tuesday. It was a small service, but full of love. Matt gave the eulogy.

 

President Newman was buried on the following Saturday. Matt, again, gave the eulogy.

 

The UN has sent peacekeeping forces into the Congo and Kundu.

 

Elvie is sleeping through the night again. 

 

The waters abated. They aways do.

 

HS

 

 

Donna Lyman - 07/17/2011 - Entry 21

 

After that chaotic and hectic day at work, I returned home with Leo. Josh didn’t return home until three hours later. 

 

I sighed as I put our plates of dinner on the table (he had texted me before leaving the White House, so I knew when to have it ready - though I already had fed the bottomless pit known as Leo Lyman). “So much for your retirement,” I said.

 

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m glad I was there today.” He picked Leo up and placed the child in his lap. “I’m glad I was there for Matt.”

 

Josh never calls President Santos by his first name. Josh continued. “His father was a barber, you know that?”

 

I nodded, but let Josh speak. 

 

“President Bartlet’s father was a headmaster - had a doctorate in Theology - and would beat the crap out of him. Sam’s dad is a retired corporate lawyer - Sam still calls him the cheating bastard - he cheated on Sam’s mother for decades. Yet Matt’s father, was a barber. Didn’t even own his own shop. But, when Sam told him that his dad had died, Matt cried.” Josh shifted in his chair. “Told us how the last time he had spoken to his father, Luis was going on how proud he was that Matt had joined the marines, then listing off how much he hated each one of his sister’s boyfriends.”

 

I swallowed my bite of dinner, hard. The president had become a pilot in the Navy nearly three decades ago.

 

“Matt said he had just listened to his dad talk, never correcting him. Matt then wiped his eyes. I had asked him he needed anything and he just shook his head, smiled, and said he was okay. He was okay because he had gotten to say goodbye to his dad that night, and his father got to die knowing who his children were. He said Luis would have wanted that.”

 

I shook my head. “Alzheimer’s is a horrible disease.”

 

Josh nodded in agreement. “Yet, I find myself wanting to be remembered like a barber. I want Leo to be able to smile when he thinks of me after I’m gone.”

 

“How do you remember your dad?” I asked him. I had been the one, back in 1998, to get that call for Josh. I had to tell him that his father had passed the night President Bartlet had won the nomination for Democratic candidate for president. I had never met Noah Lyman and Josh doesn’t talk of him much. 

 

Josh smiled, but I don’t think he was aware of it. “I remember the smell of his cigarettes. In the 60s, every lawyer smoked. Even smoked in the courtroom. Every night, after dinner, he’d help me with my homework, but he always did it while smoking. I remember, after Joanie died, he gave smoking up - never touched them again.” He paused. He doesn’t talk much about his sister either. She died in a house fire when he was 7. She was 13. “After she died, I’d have these horrible nightmares - probably survivor’s guilt or something - and my dad would just come into my room, never complaining about the hour, and sit on my bed with me, stroking my hair, until I fell asleep. Sometimes it would take hours for me to get to sleep again, but he was always right there. I prefer to remember Dad like that, and not his later self. After he got sick….” He had to again pause. He composed himself by kissing Leo’s head. “I could barely be in the same room with him. I tried to be - but I was also busy with Hoynes’, then President Bartlet’s campaigns. He was just so thin; so tired.”

 

Josh called his mom that night. I called my parents. Then we both watched a movie with Leo.

 

DL


	22. Chapter 22

_Donna Lyman - 03/15/2014 - Entry 22_

 

Time just flies, doesn’t it? We have just under a year left at the White House. The primaries are well on their way, but everyone is saying the Republicans are going to win. Which is why we really aren’t paying attention to it. The REAL excitement is that Sam is running for Governor of California. Sam never much liked his time in Congress, but still wants to make a difference in people’s lives. So he said he was going big, or he was going to become an alpaca farmer (Ainsley said the second option definitely freaks her out more). He may not be as experienced as the other candidates in terms of public office, but he has the fact that he has been Chief of Staff for the past three years.

 

Which is why Josh is now CoS again.

 

At least he is out of our hair.

 

In terms of the East Wing, we have moved from a daycare, to a private Kindergarten. Elvie is supposed to be starting Kindergarten in September, but the first lady and president thought it would be too disruptive to have him start at a normal school for a mere 5 months (since the first family intends on going back to Texas come January). And the Secret Service still doesn’t want the first family apart for an extended period (not to mention they still don’t have a house). So Mrs. Santos is homeschooling her son… and my son (hey, he’s around anyways - but I do plan on putting Leo in a normal pre-school, maybe once the election is over, and the transition starts, we will transition Leo from his private life to public school).

 

Of course, this is still the White House. Important people enjoy disrupting lesson plans. Today, it was the President of the United States.

 

“Matthew,” Mrs. Santos groaned as soon as her husband entered. They weren’t fighting (this week), she just hates when he interrupts her lessons.

 

“Daddy!” Elvie squealed. The kid still looks exactly like his father.

 

“Matt!” Leo exclaimed. Leo has gotten his father’s hair. The fluff just kinda does what it wants. Today, his brown hair was sticking up. 

 

President Santos crouched down. “Today is Big Block of Cheese Day!”

 

Big Block of Cheese Day was started by the late Leo McGarry. It’s named such after something Andrew Jackson did and Mr. McGarry used it as a way to help minor interest groups meet with senior White House staff. Josh - and Sam - continued it. Mostly, I think, because it annoys the hell out of their underlings and Josh loves doing that. 

 

“What?” Helen asked.

 

“Total crackpot day,” I answered for her husband.

 

“Oh, that thing,” she said as she turned back to her husband. “Why do you want them?”

 

The president shrugged. “It’s fairly quiet in the west wing today: no meetings of national importance. I thought the boys could come and learn what their fathers do for a living.”

 

She sighed. “Yeah, take them for the entertainment.”

 

Leo and Elvie jumped in excitement.

 

“Any of you ladies wish to come?”

 

Helen and Annabeth both shook their head. “If the boys are out of our hair, we’d better prepare for the Dateline interview,” Helen said. 

 

“I’ll come, Sir,” I said. “Josh’s last Cheese Day and all.”

 

The president gave me a doubtful look. “Do you honestly think this will be Josh’s last stint as Chief of Staff?”

 

I sighed. I knew he was right.

 

Leo and Elvie had a blast in the west wing. The president, the boys, and I watched Josh’s “Cheese Day” speech, then we sat in on a few of the meetings - one about statehood for DC and another about dairy cow regulations. The boys loved all the pictures of cows. Then I set them up in the Oval Office to colour and to do simple math flashcards while their fathers worked.

 

During their lunches, Josh and the president tried to get Leo and Elvie to learn about past presidents. They made it to Andrew Jackson before they lost it in fits of giggles over “Cheese Day”. They then started to run around the rose garden. 

 

It was a really fun day. Secretary Vinick came by, just to ask the President a question, saw me with the two boys and asked, “The Democratic candidates for next president and vice president? I swear they get younger every four years.”

 

_DL_

 

_Helen Santos - August 6, 2014 - Entry 22_

 

Our last summer in the White House is winding down. Peter came up after his first year at the University of Texas (where he is studying anthropology - at least I raised one kid right), so it was great to have the family back together again. Of course, the topic of what happens after January came up one evening while we were all at Camp David. 

 

“I honestly don’t mind moving,” Miranda stated. She’s now 13. “I’ll miss my friends, sure, but there’s Facebook. I’m just excited that, come this time next year, I’ll be starting high school. Nobody will know who I am. I can re-invent myself. Maybe I’ll start going by Maria.” Maria is her middle name. “Maria Santos is basically like being called Mary Smith down there.”

 

Matt nodded. “More or less, and your Aunt Maria hates it.”

 

“I don’t care,” she said. “Just as long as I’m not the girl with two grown men following her to her classes. No one wants to date _that_ girl.”

 

Matt gave her a look. “You are aware that children of former presidents legally get Secret Service protection until they are 16. Once I’m retired I can still re-evaluate it to cancel your protection, or extend it, till you’re like 45.”

 

Miranda glared at her father. “If you love me, you will cancel it.”

 

“Don’t worry, Randa,” Peter said, calling Miranda by her childhood nickname, which she hates. “The agents are pretty easy to give the slip once you’re in high school.”

 

I turned to Peter and gave him a questioning look. He ignored me and continued.

 

“I’m sure they will be even easier once Dad is forced into retirement.”

 

By this time, Elvie was tugging on his father’s sleeve. “What’s retirement?” he asked.

 

“I’m not going to be working anymore. Someone else will be president,” Matt answered.

 

“Why?”

 

“Because of the glory of the 22nd amendment,” I murmured. 

 

Matt ignored me. “Because presidents can only be presidents for a maximum of eight years. But it’s going to be okay, because it means I get to spend more time with you.”

 

Elvie grinned at this. “But we still get to move to Texas, right? Closer to Grandpa Bo, Grandma Angie, and Abuela Marita?” Translation: my parents and Matt’s mom. 

 

“Yes, that’s why we are moving, because I’m retiring.”

 

That night in bed, I was looking at properties in the Houston area, and I asked Matt, “If it weren’t for the 22nd amendment, would you have run again?”

 

He chuckled. “Would you have let me?”

 

I thought about it for a while. “I don’t know. I don’t know if I would have let you run for re-election four years ago if there had been no end in sight - kinda makes me thankful we didn’t move to Canada after we got married. You would have run for prime minister and beaten Mackenzie King’s record.” William Lyon Mackenzie King served as Canadian Prime Minister for over 21 years (non-consecutively). He wasn’t married (obviously). He also liked to seek advice from his mother and dog… who were both dead. Because Canada.

 

He nodded. “I’m just thankful I didn’t have to make that decision again, or have to ask you again. I’m kinda glad presidents get told outright when we have to retire - I don’t think our egos could handle having to make that decision ourselves. I just didn’t think I’d ever be retiring at 54.”

 

“You deserve a nice, long retirement,” I told him. “Not sure how _I’m_ going to put up with you, though.”

 

He laughed. “I thought we made a deal: after I had my fill of politics, I’d be the stay-at-home parent and you could get your PhD.”

 

“Matt, you altered that deal when you became president. I’m not sure if want to go back to school after 8 years of being first lady. I’ll be 47 when your term is up.”

 

“You _should_ , it’s what you’ve always wanted.”

 

“I’ll think about it. I’ll see how insufferable you are when you are bored out of your mind.” I then changed the topic by showing a listing our realtor had sent me on my iPad. “Look at this. It’s a 32 acre ranch a half hour outside of Houston. The house is huge - seven bedrooms, five bathrooms - and is completely updated.”

 

He looked at the listing. “Shop is new, though the barn looks like it could use some work.”

 

“Something to keep you busy.”

 

“We could get some cows,” he teased. 

 

“No.” I shot him down instantly. I came from cattle ranchers - after ALL THAT I’VE GONE THROUGH, I am not going back.

 

“Come on, something to keep me busy.”

 

“ _You_ , city-boy, could _not_ raise cows.”

 

“I dealt with congress for eight years.”

 

“Maybe I’ll let you have some alpacas if Sam loses California in November.  You two can be alpaca farmers together. Josh can help.”

 

He kissed my cheek. “So, we’ve found home?”

 

“Yeah,” I said. “We have.”

 

_HS_


	23. Chapter 23

_Donna Lyman - 11/01/2014 - Entry 23_

 

I’ve been in California for the past month. I wish I could say I’ve been enjoying the sun with my husband, but Josh is back home in DC. I’ve been helping the Seaborn for Governor campaign. My official title is baby-sitter for Josie (with Leo), but I’ve done media releases, as well as helped Ainsley with her appearances. Ainsley is six months pregnant and needs a bit more help (and bathroom breaks).

 

State elections are certainly not what I’m used to. There’s less national media attention (everyone is focused on who the next president will be, and Republican Senator Glen Allen Walken is, quite frankly, lambasting Congressman Nate O’Brien, one of the few men willing to have his name under “Democrat” after 16 years of democratic rule - not that Santos’ years, nor the Bartlet era, are looked upon with displeasure - people are just ready for lower taxes). But there’s still craziness: driving all across the state, living on fast food, and never seeing my husband. I’m glad Josh isn’t doing this campaign - I don’t think his arteries could take it. 

 

I’m glad to be helping Sam and Ainsley out, but I’m also ready to get back to Josh. Leo is having a blast with Josie (we went to Legoland last week and Disneyland the week before) but I think he also misses his dad. 

 

And I also want to go home so I can sleep. 

 

_DL_

 

 

_Helen Santos - November 9, 2014 - Entry 23_

 

Normally, I hate it when Josh Lyman wakes my husband up because it usually means the world is ending (which happened much less than I thought it would over the past eight years). But this morning, I’ll forgive him for coming into our bedroom at 2AM.

 

“Sir,” Josh said, sticking head in the door. “You said you wanted me to wake you when there was a result.”

 

I jabbed Matt in the ribs. “You couldn’t wait four hours? Josh is lucky it’s November and I’m actually wearing a nightgown.”

 

“You always wear a nightgown these days,” Matt grumbled as he sat up. “And?”

 

“Sorry. It was a landslide. Walken won,” Josh said.

 

Matt sighed. “Well, we knew that was coming. Send our congratulations to Glen and our thanks to Nate.”

 

“For being the Democratic party’s sacrificial lamb,” I muttered. Poor guy did not stand a chance against Waken. We all knew it. 

 

“What about California?” 

 

Josh smiled and nodded. “I just got off with Donna. I think I might have gone deaf.”

 

Matt chuckled. “Send Sam our congratulations as well,” he said as I pulled him down. Josh was wise to leave and close the door behind him.

 

“Our glory days are over, Mr. President,” I said, lying on top of him.

 

He shrugged as he wrapped his arms around me. “I’m sure there will still be much to celebrate.”

 

I nodded. I’m sure there will be too.

 

_HS_


	24. Chapter 24

_Donna Lyman - 01/20/2015 - Entry 24_

 

So. This is it. My last entry, written in my last few hours of Chief of Staff to the First Lady of the United States. I came to work early today, along with Josh who has stayed to finish up as Chief of Staff for President Santos, now that Sam is Governor of California - or will be in a few hours. Leo is at his new pre-school. 

 

I’ve spent the past few hours packing up our suite and giving the new staff - and the new first lady - pointers. Since President-Elect Walken is unmarried, his cousin, Elizabeth, is fulfilling the duties of first lady. She’s young - only 30 - but has a good head on her shoulders, plus she has a great staff to help her out.

 

Annabeth is off to California later tonight. She starts her new job in a week: Head of Media Relations for The Walt Disney Company. She’s always on the go, but she’s super excited. I’d be too if I were getting her new salary. 

 

I was offered a bunch of positions in the private sector as well, but Josh, Leo, and I will be staying on the east coast. Carol Fitzpatrick - the assistant press secretary from back in the Bartlet era (was that really only 8 years ago?) - has offered me a position in her non-profit organization that helps veterans. I think I might take it - after Josh and I take Leo on a much needed family vacation.

 

The first lady came by before she and the president had to get going to the inauguration. Her hair was up and she was wearing a black dress with a dark red coat. She hugged Annabeth and I, and gave us both gifts (handmade quilts). “Thank you both, for everything.”

 

“Is this goodbye?” I asked.

 

“Yeah. Matt and I are to head to Andrew’s air base directly after the ceremony. One last trip on Air Force One back to Texas.”

 

“Wow, Republicans really boot you out of here fast, don’t they?” Annabeth laughed. 

 

The first lady laughed as well. “I don’t know if it’s that, or we are just so ready to get out of here that we are running.”

 

“Bit of both?” I guessed. “Either way, please don’t be a stranger.”

 

She nodded. “Oh, I’m sure we will be hauled back into it all when Sam runs for president. But, we do plan on taking the kids out to California in a few months. And I’m sure other functions will have us running into DC again. And if either of you are in Houston for whatever reason, please come by.”

 

Annabeth and I nodded. We all looked around and sighed. “We did some good, didn’t we?” the first lady asked. 

 

“Mandatory child vaccinations; paid material and paternal leave; increased funding for support for domestic abuse victims,” I listed.

 

“Raised two kids; had another two,” she added.

 

Annabeth concluded. “Not bad for two Canadians in the East Wing.”

 

First Lady Santos then looked at the clock. “I’d better go, make sure Matt is getting dressed.”

 

We hugged one last time. Tears were forming in our eyes. It was a good goodbye. I think we are all ready to move on with our lives. But it was still goodbye to eight years of close friendship and goodbye to what history will remember us for, even if we are a side-note to the Santos West Wing. “It was an honour, Ma’am.”

 

“Donna, Annabeth, it was hell for 8 years, but it was nothing short of a pleasure working with you two.” She started to leave before turning around one final time. “And _please_ stop calling me ma’am!”

 

“Yeah, okay, fine, Helen!” I called. We all laughed.

 

I’d better go - tuck this journal in Helen’s bags. Then I’m going to head out. Maybe Josh and I will pick up Leo early from pre-school and take him out for lunch. 

 

This chapter has closed in our lives, but more will begin shortly. There is still more work to do. So, what’s next?

 

_DL_

 

 

 

_Helen Santos - January 20, 2015 - Entry 24_

 

If Donna thinks that the above entry will be her last, she’s sadly mistaken. When we are old and grey and when we finally decide to publish this, we will have to write another entry - probably all about how our husbands drove us insane in their retirement. 

 

Speaking of husbands in their retirement, my morning - my last morning as First Lady - begun much like that morning 8 years ago. I woke early to see my husband already awake, drinking coffee and looking out the frosted window, wearing a sweatshirt and pyjama pants.

 

I came up behind him and wrapped my arms around him. I ended up in his arms, drinking his coffee. It was just us this morning: Peter had already taken Miranda and Leo-Vincente to Houston, to _our_ ranch; _our_ home. Elvie actually was evaluated and will be placed in the first grade, not Kindergarten, once he begins at his new public school. “You ready for this?” I asked Matt.

 

“Retirement? Becoming a stay-at-home dad?” He nodded. “Yeah.” There was a pause. “It’s just weird to think it’s all over in - ” he checked his watch. “Six hours and twelve minutes.”

 

“You deserve a rest. You did so much. So much good.”

 

“Did I?” he asked.

 

“Legalized gay marriage; reformed a failing education system; pulled a country out of the worst recession the world has seen since the Great Depression; how many new jobs created? Gave Americans universal health care; prevented World War III; raised three kids; and somehow remained married to me.”

 

He laughed. “Pretty sure you have to take credit for the last three.”

 

“I played a heavy hand in them.” I sighed. “We did it. We made it.”

 

“Well, we still have six hours, ten minutes and plenty of lawyers around if you want to rectify that last one.”

 

I was going to cuff him, but I ended up laying my head on his chest. “Never.”

 

“You ready for Hawaii?” he asked. After we get settled in our new home (which will take about three days with help), Matt, the kids, and I are off to Maui for the sun, warmth, and relaxation. I have been looking forward to it for about 8 years.

 

I nodded. 

 

The rest of the morning was quiet. I got ready and said my goodbyes to the staff in the residence, and the staff in the east wing. By that time, Matt had finished up his work - his final few pardons and his letter to the next president - and got ready. President (at that time he was still President-Elect) Glen Allen Walken then arrived. He shook Matt’s and my hand. “You certainly are leaving big boots to fill,” he told Matt.

 

“I have no doubt you will have no issues filling them.” Even though their politics are vastly different, Matt still respects President Walken. 

 

They both escorted me to my limousine. President Walken’s cousin, Elizabeth, will be doing most of the duties of First Lady, but Virginia Walken, his mother, did the swearing-in ceremony. However both were pre-seated at the Inauguration Ceremony. So I had a ride to the Capitol to myself.

 

“Are you going to be okay?” Matt asked me as I got in.

 

“I think I’ll manage this by myself one last time.”

 

“You won’t be lonely?” Matt grinned. 

 

“Screw off, Jackass.”

 

“Is that really the last thing you want to say to me while I’m President?”

 

“Yes.” 

 

The door was then shut.

 

I had long moments to think during that car ride. I may have never asked to be First Lady Helen Santos, and I certainly never dreamed it would happen, but I’m glad I did it. It was an honour to support my husband in changing the country. I am a stronger person for it, and I think our children will be better people, and I know our love is unbreakable. 

 

I was seated at the inauguration ceremony. Abbey and Jeb were there, a row behind me, a reminder that Matt and I will have to do this every four or eight years for the rest of our lives. Abbey leaned forward and whispered. “In four - or eight -  years, you and I have to pass the torch to the next person dumb enough to be married to the president.”

 

I nodded. “It’s going to be Ainsley Seaborn. I already feel bad for her.”

 

Matt then appeared beside me and sat. “Already becoming a part of the peanut gallery are we, Dear?”

 

I nodded. “I wasn’t the best first lady, but I’m pretty sure I got this _former_ first lady thing down pat.”

 

The inauguration was long and cold, but at the end of it all, President Walken walked us to our limo. 

 

“Feel different?” I asked as Matt and I were driven to Andrews Air Force base.

 

“Like a country has been lifted from my shoulders. What does your mother say? Not my circus, not my monkeys?”

 

I nodded. “But you still have three monkeys to deal with back in Texas.”

 

“Yeah, but I need those to keep me from going insane from boredom.”

 

I’m writing this now, wearing jeans on the back porch of our new home. As I look out, I see the sun setting on rolling hills of green. It has been a long day of unpacking but I found Matt (wearing his dad-jeans) out here after dinner (we ordered pizza). He had an envelope, lighter, and a bucket, and was sitting on the step.

 

“Destroying evidence?” I asked.

 

“Kinda,” he laughed. “When I first became President, Jed told me to write you a letter. You know, just incase something happened to me.”

 

I sat beside him. He continued.

 

“He told me my last duty as President was to burn it.”

 

“So I don’t get to read it?”

 

He kissed my cheek. “Never,” he said, setting fire to it, and then dropping it into the bucket. 

 

I slipped my hand into his.

 

“So,” I said. “What are we going to do tomorrow?”

 

_HS_


	25. Chapter 25

Epilogue Entry - Helen Santos & Donna Lyman - January 19, 2055

 

So, here we are, 40 years later. We are unsure how, or even if, this diary will be published - if either of us will gets the guts to do it while we are alive, or if one of our kids will find it after we are gone. But we thought, if there was a day to write an epilogue together, it would be today.

But, before that, perhaps some recaps are in order. 

The Lyman family never got a moment’s rest after the Santos administration. We welcomed the twins, Abi and Noah into the family in late 2015. Then Sam Seaborn decided to run for president in 2018. He won, so Josh was Chief of Staff - on and off - for President Seaboarn for his two terms (of course, the Hayes-Seaborn family would occupy the White House again for over 6 years from 2032 until 2039). Josh retired in 2027, but his children kept him busy. Leo, Abi, and Noah all went to Yale for their Bachelor’s degrees. Leo ended up going to Harvard Law like his father, and eventually became the first Senator for Washington DC. Abi got her PhD on the west coast, and Noah joined the Peace Corps. Leo and Noah are happily married with children. Abi just doesn’t have time for that (yet). 

Sadly, we lost Josh in 2038. His heart just gave out but he was surrounded by his family when we decided it was time to let him be at peace. He never got to see his children become the successful, happy adults they grew to be. But he loved them and I am so thankful he got to see Leo marry the love of his life. I know Josh would be so proud of them if he was still around today.

The Santos family retreated to their ranch in 2015, but it was never a dull moment. Matt became a stay at home dad, making up for lost time with his kids. Being a former president made Matt both have authority and respect as a dad, but also made him kind, calm, and understanding. I, Helen, went on to get my PhD in Archaeology, but never worried about getting a job - I mostly publish alongside Dr. Peter Santos (yes, Peter got the career his mother never got). Miranda went on to get her Masters’ in Aerospace Engineering and is currently on Mars as this is written. As for Elvie, well, the kid got his BA in World History, then graduated from Law School before joining the Air Force in hopes of eventually prosecuting war crimes. Unfortunately, he had a training accident. His jet crashed. The cause was virus programming - something that ended up being wrong with all the jets in that class. As Elvie says “that ended that military career real quick”. He became a lawyer, then served a few years in congress before becoming Governor of Texas. Peter, Miranda and Elvie all are happily married with children. 

We lost Matt in 2048. Most former presidents live well into their 90s these days: Sam is still kicking around and we only lost Ainsley two months ago. But Matt developed a brain tumour when he was 85. Doctors said operating was risky: that he’d probably lose who he was if he did survive. We decided against any treatment. It just wasn’t worth it at his age. They gave him 3 months to live. The jackass ended up living another 2 years.

 

A over year ago, Leo Lyman decided he was going to run for president. Once he got the nomination, he dragged Leo-Vincente Santos along to be his running mate. They won. Of course they won. 

Tomorrow our sons become President and Vice President of the United States of America. 

And we couldn’t be prouder. 

DL & HS


End file.
